Star Trek: The Four Years War Book 3
by Stephen Fender
Summary: The third year of the war between the United Federation of Planets and the Klingon Empire...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Stardate 4201.03

January, 2254

The swirling and turbulent upper atmosphere of the green planet loomed large on the view screen. The super hurricane, the largest reported on the planet in the nearly five years since it's discovery, spiraled slowly across the lower half what had been designated as the western continent of Minis. It had been a long time since anyone on the USS _Farragut_ had seen a hurricane in action. With the weather modification net now working almost flawlessly on Earth—as well as a dozen other worlds—inclement weather like this was a thing of the past. The beauty and the destructive power of the weather system was enough to humble any being, and the crew manning the bridge stations on the Federation cruiser in the early hours of the morning were all silently glad to be in a warm and secure place.

All of them, that was, except for James T. Kirk.

Now on his third training cruise since he'd entered Starfleet Academy, Jim was looking forward to something more than planetary exploration. The war with the Klingon's was rolling into its third year, and many of Jim's contemporaries at the academy had graduated and left for vessels of war near or on the frontlines themselves. Occasionally he would receive letters of correspondence from them, telling him of the battles they'd fought or the exciting landing parties that they'd been members of. That was what James wanted, that was why he had joined the Fleet. Not to study turbulent ecosystems, but to defend the Federation against aggressors, both big and small.

Unfortunately, small was exactly how he felt right now. Small and unimportant, locked away in a research cruiser far and away from the battle lines drawn against the Klingon's. Never mind that he currently occupied the Captain's chair, he knew that he'd have to vacate it the moment that Captain Garrovick had made his way up here from his quarters.

Stephen Garrovick was a good captain, as good as James had ever seen anyways. He had a way with his people. Firm, yet fair. He was tolerant of the mistakes made by junior officer, but only to a point. Gary Mitchell had found that out during their last cadet cruise. Fortunately, Garrovick had managed to get past Mitchell's indiscretion and had even requested the young man come back onboard his ship for this cruise. Gary was delighted, but then again he had no idea that Garrovick had secretly convened with Kirk, and that James was ordered to be a clandestine supervisor to the energetic and brash Mitchell. Jim didn't like the idea of babysitting, but he was glad to both be onboard with his close friend from the academy and to have been singled out by the captain himself. If Kirk played his card right, he'd probably even get a mention or two in the captain's log, which would forever etch his name into the history of Starfleet.

He only hoped that the log entry was something more exciting than standing the 0200 bridge watch, looking over a hurricane from a safe distance of seven-hundred miles.

The gray turbolift doors behind Kirk swished open and Captain Garrovick, tall and well built, entered the bridge and headed straight for the command chair in the center of the room. Jim spun to see him, then quickly moved to vacate the captain's chair. With an upturned hand offered in Jim's direction, the captain had wordlessly stopped Kirk's movements in mid action.

"That won't be necessary, Cadet Kirk."

"Sir?" Jim asked in confusion. _Why would the captain not want his seat? Was it something I did?_

Stephen smirked, then smiled comfortably. "Report, Mr. Kirk."

"Not to much to tell I'm afraid," he nodded towards the view screen. Garrovick's eyes followed Jims.

"The category-four hurricane we picked up yesterday?" Garrovick asked, already knowing the answer.

Jim nodded slowly, staring at Stephen as the captain seemed captivated by the storm system. "Now a category-six, sir."

"Amazing, isn't it James?"

"Yes, sir. Quite." It was an honest answer, even if Jim wished he were somewhere else.

Stephen turned to Gary Mitchell, now sitting at the science station. "How much longer is this going to be around, Mr. Mitchell?"

Gary nervously punched in the requested calculations into the ships main computer. He missed a few buttons, silently cursing to himself as he corrected his errors. Garrovick looked to Jim as the two shared a silent smile, and then turned his attention back to the Mitchell before they were noticed.

"It will pass over the eastern coast of the continent in approximately five hours, sir. It will have cleared the entire continent in about fifteen."

"About, Mr. Mitchell? I'm sure you can be more exact than that, Cadet."

There seemed to be a fine bead of sweat on Gary's forehead as he rechecked his numbers. "Ah, yes…yes, sir. Uh, fifteen point three one hours to be exact, sir. That is assuming the hurricane doesn't deviate from its current heading."

"Excellent, Mr. Mitchell," Garrovick then turned to James. "I'll need a landing party in the transporter room in seven hours. I understand you're due to be relieved here on the bridge in less than an hour?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. I'll take the center seat until your relief arrives. Get down to your quarters and get a few hours rest. I'll see you in the transporter room at 1100 hours."

Jim was all smiles. _Finally_, he thought. _A chance to get off the ship! _"Yes, sir!"

Garrovick then turned his attention to the nervous cadet at the science station. "You too, Mr. Mitchell. I've already signaled for your relief to come up early. As soon as Ensign Trin gets here, get down to your quarters for a few hours rest."

Mitchell shot Kirk a sideways glance, smiling mischievously in the process. It didn't go unnoticed by the captain.

"And I _do_ mean rest, Cadet Mitchell," Stephen said sternly to the cadet at the science station. "No lollygagging around and _definitely_ no shenanigans."

A smile still plastered across his handsome face, his eyes shifted to his captain. "Shenanigans, sir? Me?"

"Uh-huh. I don't need to tell you how important landing party assignments are to your performance reviews, do I?"

Gary's smile quickly faded and was replaced by the somber expression of a well trained cadet. "Of course not, sir."

Garrovick nodded slowly. "Then we have an understanding on this matter then?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely."

"* * * * *"

Exactly seven hours later, Cadets Kirk and Mitchell were waiting in the Farragut's transporter room for the rest of the landing party to arrive. While they had been a few minutes early to their appointment, everyone else seemed to be running a few minutes late. At ten minutes after 1100 hours, Captain Garrovick, a security officer, and an ensign that neither Kirk nor Mitchell had seen before entered the transporter room. When the ensign looked to Jim and Gary, he all but sneered in their direction, not even bothering to introduce himself as he walked past them and took his place on the translucent transporter pad.

When the three officers and two cadets were situated on the pads, the captain flicked his index finger away from his forehead, giving the transporter chief an unspoken command to beam them down to the surface.

Neither James nor Gary were strangers to transporter operations. As the familiar force filed took hold of their bodies, then awaited the slight tingling sensation that would single dematerialization. Three seconds later they were on the tropical surface of Minis.

James's first impression was that he was in some forgotten rainforest from Earth's past. The team was surrounded by enormously tall trees, with think blue trunks that measured, in some of the larger variants, nearly ten meters in diameter. The tops of the trees, stretching hundreds of meters in the air, were covered in thick green leaves that capped the forest in a near perfect canopy. Many of the leaves had fallen during the hurricane and now littered the forest floor. There also seemed to be fern like plants, some as large as a small hover car, dotted here and there along the damp and musty forest bed. The air smelled crisp and surprisingly clean, reminding Jim of the after storm conditions back home in Iowa. Before the landing party was a pair of large trees that must have fallen during the storm. Their think yellow mossy coats were in stark contrast to the dark yellow of their internal fibrous structure.

Captain Garrovick, with his personal security guard at his side, turned and stepped up to Kirk and Mitchell. "I suppose you're both wondering what were doing here?"

Mitchell seemed to still be taking in the sights as Kirk looked to his captain. "The thought did cross my mind, sir."

"This planet is supposed to be littered with dilithium, or so a recent survey team told the Federation council. You both know how important that is to the war effort."

The mention of the dilithium snapped Gary out of whatever daydream he'd been having and his attention snapped back to Garrovick. Both he and Kirk nodded with understanding. "Starfleet Command wanted to waste as little time as possible sending out a starship to investigate. Luckily for us the Farragut was the closest ship in range." Garrovick reached out a hand and delicately stroked on of the fern like plants at his feet. The stalk of the bush seemed to react to his presence, coiling in on itself slowly as it shied away from his fingertips. "Remarkable, isn't it? The survey team had mentioned these plants and a host of other life forms on this planet that we've never seen before. I couldn't wait to come down here and see it for myself." He looked back to Jim and Gary. "Not to mention, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for a pair of raw cadets. You get to experience a virgin planet on the eve of industrialization."

The captain's last remark held a tone Jim knew all too well, having heard the echoes of his father's voice in his captain's statement. "Sir?"

"Progress, James. It's the cornerstone of our civilization—not to mention all of the major members of the Federation," the captain leaned down and picked up a handful of small stones from the ground, each instantly becoming warmer in his palm. When they were nearly too hot to hold he tossed them back on the forest floor where they quickly returned to their inherent ambient temperature. "Progress, Jim. And war. Progress will wipe whole sections of this wondrous forest clear to make way for a dilithium mining station, and the longer the war rages on, the more dilithium will be required to fight it. That means even more deforestation of this astonishing environment that the Federation is willing to… remove… in the name of victory."

"I'm still not sure I follow you, sir?"

The rude ensign from the transporter room scoffed in Kirk's direction.

Garrovick turned a disproving gaze towards the young man before he looked back to Jim. He knelt down by the forest floor, motioning Jim and Gary to follow suit. He lowered his voice to the two young cadets. "Ensign Drake doesn't get it either," he said, tossing he head briefly sideways to indicate he was talking about the ensign. "His family seems to be bread for this war. That's why he's a good officer for our current campaign. He's just… well, not a good fit for my ship, if you catch my meaning."

"I think I do, sir." James replied.

"I'm sure you do, Jim. I'm sure both of you do," he reached out a hand to the fern-like planet, it's tendril twigs ringing themselves around the captain's gentle fingers. It seemed that the planet had found a friend in the captain. "Men like me…well, we weren't meant for this war. I'm an explorer and a scientist first and foremost, gentleman. Now, don't get me wrong here. When push comes to shove, I'll toss down to a fight with the best of them. In fact, I've been known to throw the first punch a time or two."

Garry and Jim smiled, but it was Kirk who really understood. "But that's not really the point is it, sir?"

"Of course it isn't, James. That's why I wanted you down here. You're not… well, you're not like Drake, and I suspect that you never will be, but that's not to say that temptation won't get the best of you. You need to learn to temper your anger and your frustrations, and not rush into things with a fool hearty attitude. And, when it does come down to a fight, you need to understand full well what and who you're fighting for and against. That's the mark of not only a good warrior, but a good captain."

"You don't need to worry about Cadet Kirk here, sir," Gary snickered. "He's as good with his fists as any boxer I've ever seen."

The captain smiled. "Oh, I know he can fight, Mr. Mitchell. And I know he can think. What I'm anxious to see is if the cadet can do them both at the same time."

"You're talking about the Kobiashi Maru test, aren't you sir?" James said, smiling wryly.

The captain feigned surprise. "Am I?"

"It sure sounds like you are, sir."

"Now, Mr. Kirk, you know as well as I that no one is allowed to discuss that with you. That includes anyone outside of Starfeet Academy as well."

Jim pursed his lips and inclined his head in acknowledgement. "So I've been told."

"I know this is your last deep space assignment before you take the test, and I just want you to be prepared for it. You're at the top of your class at command school. That's a prestigious position to hold, James. I just want you to know that, no matter what happens, you're going to be an asset to Starfleet Command as long as you keep up the good work and maintain the proper perspective."

James thought back to what he had felt on the bridge of the Farragut. He thought of his classmates and the adventures they may have been having near the front lines. Was that really what he wanted, or was he just trying to fit in with the rest of the young people who wanted to go out and fight? Captain Garrovick seemed like quite an impressive officer, and he certainly had the respect of everyone on board, yet here he was, insisting that fighting was not the end-all and of Starfleet service. Perhaps it was something that James should consider, if he wanted to make this a career. "Yes, sir. I'll try."

"That's all I want to see and hear," and he looked over to Mitchell. "From both of you." The captain stood and motioned for Drake to come closer. As the ensign approached he withdrew a tricorder from around his shoulder and offered it to the Garrovick. He turned the instrument on; lifting to the telltale blips that indicated the device had begun scanning. He waved up and down, turning his torso side to side to allow the instrument to get a full sensor sweep of the area. When he brought the device's screen back to his eyes for inspection he smiled joyfully. "There's a series of structures, just over that rise," he pointed to a small hill that lay just beyond the periphery of the forest with his right index finger. "They're definitely not natural in origin."

"I thought this planet was supposed to be devoid of complex life forms, sir?" Gary asked.

Stephen nodded. "It is, Mr. Mitchell. I can't tell from this distance, but my guess is that these are ruins from some previous inhabitant of the planet."

"Human?" Kirk asked, and then inwardly kicked himself for making the statement. Only a plebe would assume that every planet in the galaxy contained bipedal humanoid life.

If the captain caught Jim's embarrassment or not, he never let it show. He simply answered Kirk as if James had asked a completely logical question. "We won't know until we get closer. Something in these trees is obscuring the tricorders readings." He slapped the device closed and handed it back to Drake. "The structures aren't far from here, only about a kilometer or so, on the other side of that rise. Let's get going." He turned from the men and led the way to the base of the hill.

Twenty minutes later they had come down the far side of the hill. In front of them was a large edifice carved into the side of a smaller earthen hill. The large, nearly perfectly symmetrical blocks that were used to construct the entrance way reminded James of the ancient Mayan ruins of Earth, which he pointed out to the captain.

"That's a very astute observation, Cadet." Garrovik replied. "It also bears a resemblance to the ruins at Tikal, in Mexico, and the Vontoro citadel on Beta Frapton."

Gary leaned close to Jim and whispered in his ear. "Show off."

"What was that, Mr. Mitchell?"

Garrovick's remark caught Gary by surprise. _Man, the old guy really has some good ears! He must be part Vulcan._ "Oh, I was just telling Cadet Kirk how much I admired his knowledge of historical structures, sir."

The captain kept his eyes scanning the structure, not bothering to look at Mitchell as he responded. "Knowledge is power, Mr. Mitchell. You'd be wise to remember that."

"Yes, sir. I'll do that."

James could instantly tell by the tone of Gary's voice that the captain's words had gone in one ear and directly out the other. If anyone knew Gary Mitchell's little nuances and quirks, it was Jim Kirk. He looked at Mitchell and shook his head disapprovingly, to which Mitchell only shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Jim rolled his eyes at the gesture and turned his attention back to the structure. "Do we investigate, sir?"

Garrovik smiled broadly and tuned to the cadet. "You bet your sweet bonnet we do. In fact, why don't you too lead the way?"

"Us?" Mitchell replied nervously.

"You aren't afraid of the dark are you, _cadet_?" Drake said with disdain.

Gary's eyes grew cold as he stepped closer to Drake, who was standing nearest the imposingly large entryway. "Not on your life, _Ensign_."

Drake puffed his chest. "I prefer 'sir', cadet."

James instinctively tightened the muscles in his legs, ready to pounce on Drake the moment he raised a fist to his best friend. Gary only smiled while his eyes remained fixed on the snobbish officer. "Like I said, not on your life, _Ensign_."

Garrovick was quick to intervene. "Enough, the both of you. Cadet Kirk, you lead the way. We'll be right behind you."

James shifted his eyes from Drake to the Captain. "Yes, sir." He withdrew his laser sidearm and twisted its barrel, setting it to mild stun. 'You can never be too cautious', his small arms instructor had always said in class.

James had barley gotten to within a foot of the door before he was suddenly flat on his face and in the mud. It had happened so suddenly he didn't know what had happened. He quickly turned to see what he'd missed in his journey across the dirt, expecting to see a small branch or rock that he'd overlooked. The only thing that greeted him was Drake's manically smiling face. Kirk looked down to see the tip of Drake's boot covered in a thin film of mud.

"You need to learn to be more careful, cadet. Maybe you should go back home where it's safe."

The captain was quick to silenced Drake. "Cadet Kirk, if you're alright then please lead on. Ensign Drake, please come to the rear with me. I believe we need to have a little chat."

As Gary came up to Jim side, he offered him a sleeve from the utility jacket he had just removed. "Don't pay him too much mind, Jim. I'm sure he'll wash out of the fleet before we get commissioned."

"Yeah. Maybe."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Stardate: 4202.10

February, 2254

Fleet Captain Yale Hathaway, former commanding officer of the _Constitution_-class starship USS _Exeter, _finally felt as if were at home in his new command. He had assumed control of the 4th Battle Squadron only three weeks before, commanding the group from his new flag ship, the _Achernar_-class command cruiser USS _Empress_. His group, consisting of the 17th Strike Squadron—three _Loknar_-class frigates, and the 19th Strike Squadron—four _Detroyat_-class heavy destroyers, were just patrolling an area of space nearly three sectors coreward from the former neutral zone between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. In the last twelve month, the front lines of the Klingon's push into Federation space had brought them dangerously close to this sector, and Hathaway was determined to hold his few meager parsecs of space to the very last man.

In the last few days there had been multiple battle drills assigned to the squadron. Each man, woman, and transgender species from every race had been pushed to their limits as they honed their individual and team skills for the engagement Hathaway was sure was coming. With the last efficiency report in hand, Hathaway leaned back in his chair and smiled, confident that the numbers were exactly where he wanted them to be. Each ship was operating at peak efficiency, and each member of the Starfleet crews that manned them were at their very best, just they way Yale liked it.

Yale watched the stars slowly drift past the forward view screen as the black leather padding of his command chair crinkled under the shifting of his weight. There was a presence at his right side and he turned to see who it was.

"Ah, Ensign Jones," he said to the young woman, his personal yeoman, at his side. She cradled a hot cup of tea in her hand, a blend from Hathaway's native land back on Earth. He gingerly took the cup offered to him and dismissed the young woman with a nod and a smile. He sipped at the libation, reveling in the sweetness as the warm liquid crossed his pallet. _Perfect_, he though as he brought the cup to his lap. _Everything is perfect._ He turned his attention to his Andorian science officer, Commander L'donna. "Science officer, report status."

L'donna, his blue skin looking even more vibrant under the soft lights above his station, turned in his chair quickly to face his captain. "Sensors report nothing out of the ordinary, sir."

"Excellent. Helmsman, status."

Lieutenant Davidson, of Alpha Centauri, turned his boyish face to look at Yale. "On course, Captain. We'll meet up with the _Baton_ _Rouge_ in less than three hours, present speed."

"Very good." Yes, it was very good. Onboard the _Baton_ _Rouge_ was 7th Strategic Squadron commander Rear Admiral Darius Cody. Yale was more than excited to be hosting the admiral for a tour of inspection of his battle squadron. The admiral was sure to find everything in shipshape—Fleet Captain Hathaway had made sure of that. This would, undoubtedly, lead to a favorable report to Starfleet Command, bringing Yale even more accolades than he was afforded when he was promoted to Fleet Captain six month ago. Yes, rank had its privileges, and Captain Hathaway was very much looking forward to the privilege that a promotion to the admiralty would bring him, to say nothing about the delight of getting him away from this accursed war zone.

Yale had heard rumors that Cody's star was on the downswing. After the incident at **Klef**(?) last year, Cody had been ordered even closer to the frontlines, not the most desirable place for the commander of a Strategic Squadron consisting of over two hundred ships. To place a commander directly in harms way reflected one of two things: Starfleet Command's utmost confidence in his abilities, or their extreme displeasure with the same. If Cody wanted to prove the he was a capable commander, there would be no better place for him to do it. Thus, it was said he'd accepted his new orders with a welcoming smile and curses in his heart.

And, if he failed to live up to Starfleet Command's expectations, so much the better. There were a dozen Fleet Captain's itching to take his place, and Yale Hathaway planned on being at the forefront of that lot. Hathaway held the rank of Commodore in everything but title, and the leap from where he was to the admiralty could easily be within his reach. All he needed to do was play his cards right—and Yale Hathaway was an exceptional card player.

He reached for his warm tea, sipping in lightly as he fathomed the forthcoming meeting with Darius Cody.

Approximately seven hours later, the light cruiser _Baton Rouge_, namesake of her class, was insight of Yael's 4th Battle Squadron's long range sensors. Hathaway had chosen the Delta Dorado system for the inspection, and had the entire squadron resting 'at anchor', so to speak, near the outer edge of the system. Hathaway wasted little time dispatching the frigate _Chicago_ to intercept the Admiral's cruiser and to escort it to their location. The _Chicago_'s captain, A Tellerite commander named Ertik, was Yale's immediate successor in squadron, and a trusted and well respected warrior. It was fitting for Hathaway to send his best officer to meet with the admiral, and he was satisfied that he'd done so.

Thirty minutes later the _Baton Rouge _was snugly along side of the _Empress, _with the remainder of the 4th Battle Squadron formed around their commander's starship in a tight, almost circular formation. They were all holding a similar station, unmoving, with each commanding officer awaiting the Admiral's inspection of their respective vessel.

Fleet Captain Hathaway was in the transporter room to receive the admiral the moment he's sent the signal. When Rear Admiral Darius Cody materialized onto the transporter pad, Yale was taken aback by the sheer size of the man. Clearly the admiral was a trifle to think around the waste, and Yale silently vowed that—once he became a member of the admiralty—no such fate would befall him. He subconsciously sucked in his small gut as he approached the admiral with an outstretched hand.

"Admiral Cody, it's a pleasure to receive you, sir."

The admiral embraced his hand in a firm shake. "Thank you, Captain Hathaway. It's good to finally be aboard a different vessel for a change. I was beginning to feel like the Baton Rouge was a second skin to me."

_Considering your girth I don't doubt it_, Yale thought wryly to himself. He stretched out a hand towards his second in command. "This is my first officer, Commander Mantuka."

The two officers exchanged pleasantries before Hathaway spoke up again. "Would you care for any refreshments, Admiral?"

Cody waved his pudgy hand dismissively. "That won't be necessary, Captain. I'd like to get this inspection done and over with as soon as possible."

Yale discerned a tone of impatience in the admiral's voice. "Is there anything I should be aware of, sir? If there's a more pressing matter for you to attend to then I—"

"Captain, if there is any thing you need to know then rest assured that I will inform you of it."

Yale defiantly did not mistake the admiral's tone for anything other what it implied: condescension. This was not going at all like Yale had imagined, and he tried to regain the situation. He outstretched his arm towards the room's only doorway. "If the Admiral would kindly follow me, we can begin the tour in the engineering spaces."

"Yes, yes. Fine, let's just get on with it, shall we?"

After a brief tour of the engine room, cut short by the Admiral's obvious impatience, Yale decided to venture towards the shuttle bay. Once there, he offered up the ships newest shuttlecraft for the admiral's inspection. It was one of the newer models of the craft, far more smooth and uncluttered than the previous model. Its smooth sides where emblazoned with the Empress's hull numbers, followed by the numeral "1" to indicate that it was also the Captain's personal craft.

When Darius caught sight of the vessels name, he all but scoffed. "The _Dar'an_?"

Yale beamed with pride. "Yes Admiral. Named after Rear Admiral Dar'an of Izar, whom I believe you knew. It commemorates his sacrifice at—"

Darius huffed, obviously agitated at the craft's designation. "It's a silly name for a shuttlecraft," he shot back acerbically. He turned sharply to the captain. "Now…_now_ I believe I've seen everything, Captain. I'm ready to move on." And with that he turned and stormed out of the shuttle bay. Yale was quickly on his heels as the admiral made a beeline for the nearest turbolift.

The air was thick in the lift ride to the bridge. Yale was finding it hard to breathe, thinking that perhaps Cody's large lungs had created a minor vacuum in the small space. The lift slowed to a halt as Fleet Captain Hathaway saw his chances of impressing the admiral fading with each passing second. When the lift doors opened Yale could feel a marked wave of fresh air enter into the cramped car.

"Admiral on the bridge!" Commander L'donna announced in his most authoritative voice. All hands immediately stood at attention as Cody exited the lift onto the upper level of the command deck.

His eyes shifted to each crewman at each station, taking in the sights and sounds of a new bridge for the first time in nearly two months. While all of the command decks in Starfleet Command took on a familiar circular shape, each class had a slighter different arrangement of the typical bridge stations. On the _Baton Rouge_, for example, the science officer was directly behind the captain. Here on the _Empress_ the science station was just to the right of the main view screen. The lack of standardization annoyed Cody, and he had vowed to reorganize it all when he became a Vice Admiral and in charge of Starship Research and Design, a promotion he was sure was coming in the very near future.

Yale stepped free from the lift and waved a hand towards the engineering station, just to the right of the turbolift. "This is our Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander—"

"Sir?" It was the communications officer, Lieutenant Emily Flores that had spoken up.

Yale and Cody both turned to her, each sharing a look of surprise that such a junior officer would interrupt the captain in the middle of his sentence. Flores slunk back slightly in her chair under the weight of their collective gazes.

"Yes, Lieutenant? You have something _important_ to say?" Yale asked sternly.

"Yes, sir. That is, I do…sir."

Cody rolled his eyes in obvious displeasure. "You have a communications officer with a stammer, Captain? Hardly acceptable for a bridge officer, don't you think?"

Yale's face began to turn red. Flores was quite a capable officer, one he was glad to have on his team. However, she had given Cody the ammunition to cause the captain embarrassment, and he was sure to have a talk with her in private after this was all over with. "Come now, Lieutenant. What do you have to say?

"Well, sir…we seem to be…rather, we're definitely receiving a distress call, Captain." She seemed to have regained her grasp on her professionalism the moment before she finished speaking. "Priority-One."

Yale gaped at her for a moment, then slowly slid his eyes to Cody, who now seemed to have a fine bead of sweat taped to his forehead. Yale swallowed hard, realizing that this was his moment to shine, to impress the pompous and ill mannered Admiral at his side. He flipped his own internal switch, going from the patient admiral's escort to Fleet Captain in an instant. "Who's it coming from, Lieutenant?"

"It's hard to make out, sir. I think it could be a merchant vessel."

"Do we have a visual signal?"

"Yes, sir."

"Put it on screen, Lieutenant."

The stationary image of stars on the screen wavered briefly as it was slowly replaced with the image of a male humanoid in obvious distress. His face was smudged with grease, his short hair was disheveled, and his overly large brown shirt had a sizeable tear near his left bicep. His eyes were sunken, probably due to a lack of sleep.

"This is Captain Yale Hathaway of the Federation starship _Empress_. With whom am I speaking?"

The man swallowed hard, then whipped his lips with the back of his dirty forearm. "Stillman… Captain Frank Stillman, of the trader _Marcus Centauri_."

"You sent out a priority-one communication, Captain. What can we do for you?"

Stillman looked at a loss for words for a moment, then began slowly. "We… we were attacked… by Klingon's."

"Are they still in the area?"

"Negative. That is, I don't think so. Our long-range sensors are down, but our short-range sensors don't show anything out there."

"Are you alone?"

"Negative. There are three vessels in our group. We we're on course to the Zalvhros colony when we were attacked without provocation. Our warp drive is down, and our supplies are limited. We didn't expect to be stranded out here. Can you assist us, _Empress_?"

"Commander L'donna, what is their position?"

"Half a parsec from here, sir. Near the furthest planetoid in this system."

Hathaway could hear the desperation in Stillman's voice. There was urgency to the merchant's request, and Yale could fully understand why. If the Klingon's were still in the vicinity then the merchants wouldn't stand a chance. That they Klingon's hadn't initially destroyed them was a huge stroke of favor on their part. This was his chance to shine in front of the admiral and he knew he should take it. "We'll set a course for your location and be there shortly."

"Captain?" Admiral Cody spoke up abruptly. This was the last place that Darius wanted to be, but there was very little he could do about it. The thought crossed his mind to request that the captain beam him back over to the _Baton Rouge_ immediately, but knew that it was out of the question. He was now the ranking officer on the ship, and if Starfleet Command got wind that he had requested a hasty exit in the intervening moments before his starship came to the rescue of a stranded vessel, his chances for a swift promotion would fall off quickly. Besides, if he acted quickly enough, he might be able to wrestle this moment of glory from Hathaway's hands and come out of it a hero.

Yale turned to face Cody. "Yes, Admiral?"

Cody wrapped his heavy arms behind his back and thrust out his chest, which still failed to stick out farther than his gut. "Captain, please set a course for the trader convoy and engage at maximum speed. We need to rescue those people before the Klingon's decide to come back."

Cody was stating the obvious and Hathaway knew it. Of course he would have to set a course for them, and he'd already made his mind up about getting there as fast as possible. Cody had simply taken his prerogative as the senior officer to make the statement before Yale got a chance to, thus giving Cody the credit in the log entry for ordering the rescue.

_So be it_, Yale thought. There would be other chances to shine during this mission. "Yes, sir. Well take two of the frigates in with us and—"

"You will do nothing of the sort, Captain." Cody interrupted. "We will take the entire Battle Squadron in with us."

_Okay,_ Yale thought, _that's a bad idea and you should know it, Admiral. _"Sir, might I suggest… if we leave a small number of—"

"No, Captain Hathaway, you may _not_ suggest. You will follow my orders and that will be all."

Yale could see the situation quickly slipping from his control. "Sir, Starfleet regulations on this matter are quite clear. If we are going to—"

"Captain, there is a stranded group of freighters out there just waiting to be rescued! While you're sitting here jabbering the Klingon's could be heading back in this direction for another attack run. We don't have time for this. Get this battle squadron moving, or you'll find yourself relieved of command. Do I make myself clear?"

_Well, there goes any hope of impressing the Admiral._ Yale straightened in his chair, then turned quickly to the communications officer. "Lieutenant Flores, signal the group that we are moving out."

Cody walked up behind the communications officer. "And advise the squadron commanders to keep a tight formation around us at all times. I don't feel as safe onboard this vessel as I did on the _Baton Rouge_."

The remark was a slap in the face to both Yale Hathaway and his entire crew. Flores looked to her captain for his consent to send out the admiral's request, to which he simply responded with a short nod.

Yale placed a hand on her shoulder, a very friendly—albeit non-professional gesture—to help calm the nerves of the young woman at communications. "Once you're finished, send a signal all departments that we're getting underway. I want status reports from each of them in the next five minutes."

She smiled softly to her captain, her former lack of self-confidence now a thing of the past. "Yes, sir. Right away."

Seven minutes after the battle squadron got underway they were at the rendezvous point. Just as Captain Stillman had stated, three _Arived_-class freights were there waiting patiently for them just on the far side of Giso VIII, a large reddish-pink gas giant.

The freighters themselves were nothing spectacular. Their angular sides gave them a very utilitarian look, not unlike the shuttle craft in the _Empress_'s hanger bay. They each had dual warp nacelles, scaled down versions which were Federation in origin, which were slung high and back on the bulky craft's centerline. Their beauty and speed lacking, their only saving grace was their ability to haul enormous amounts of cargo long distance, and they had endeared themselves to most of the brass in the admiralty of the Merchant Marine Command for it.

The Empress and her squadron slowly came to within visual range of the freighters on impulse power, every starship had their sensors set on a continuous and overlapping sweep of the system. Seated squarely in his command chair, Yale could see the lines of battle scars streaked across each of the freighters otherwise pristine hulls. He ordered a communications channel opened to Captain Stillman, and was greeted with a slightly cleaner looking merchant.

"Oh, thank God you're here, Captain Hathaway. We were beginning to worry."

"No need for that. Do you have injured that you need tending to?"

"Yes, quite a few. And our warp drive is down. So, even if our replicators were functional, we're running too low on supplies. We were only scheduled to be out for a short while, and we had to increase cargo capacity so we eliminated half of our raw organic compounds."

Admiral Cody sidestepped the Captain, inserting himself between Yale and the main view screen. "That's quite alright, Captain Stillman. This is Admiral Cody, commander of this battle squadron. We'll have you and your crew beamed over to our ships while we send an engineering detail to your vessels to tender repairs."

"Wow. Thank you, Admiral. I have to say, I'm not used to such good natured hospitality from Starfleet officers. I'll definitely be sending a positive report to your superiors for this."

Yale could only roll his eyes and try hard not to bring the palm of his to his face in mortification.

"Say nothing of it, Captain," Cody replied, as if he alone were bringing these stranded merchants the gift of salvation. "Just give us your coordinates and we'll lower our shields to begin the process."

"Of course, Admiral," Stillman replied with a toothy grin. "We'll send them right away."

Freight digram – Janyz Starfleet Volume 2, Ships of Support, page 11


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Captain Hathaway brought the _Empress_ closer to the SS _Marcus Centauri_, preparing to beam over the wounded personnel first before moving on to anyone else. The 4th Battle Squadron had surrounded the trio of freighters, with Captain Ertik and the frigate _Chicago_ tending to the SS _Constance Centauri_ and Commander Sofan and the destroyer _Maryland_ assisting the SS _Darius Centauri. _The five remaining Starfleet vessels, three destroyers and two frigates, held station just beyond transporter range of the vessels.

On the bridge of the _Maryland_, the Deltan captain Sofan sat motionless in his command chair as he watched his ship inch ever closer to the _Darius Centauri_. While space was infinitely large, transporter operations between ships were always a finicky operation. The vessels had to close within a relatively small range of one another, a gap made even smaller this time due to the limited transporters aboard the freighters. The closeness of the vessels brought forth a recent, very troubling memory for Sofan.

Sofan had experienced his share of collisions in space while he was the executive officer on the _Maryland_ only four months prior. The captain at that time, Commander Wilcox, has vastly misjudged the distance between the _Maryland_ and another _Detroyat_ destroyer while they were performing battle readiness maneuvers near the Alphosa star system. When the _Maryland_ had to perform an emergency turn to starboard to avoid a stray meteorite, her starboard warp nacelle came into contact with the other destroyers port nacelle. Wilcox had acted quickly, but not quickly enough. He'd managed to maneuver the Maryland out of the path of the destroyer—avoiding certain destruction—but the damage had already been done. The ensuing board of inquiry had found him negligent in his duties as a commander, which had the unfortunate outcome of stripping him of his command. He'd been reassigned to a Federation listening post out on Cestus III, a backwater planet that was far removed from anything that would ever advance his career. Sofan, having already advanced to the rank of Commander by that time, was the logical choice to take control of the Maryland.

Now, as the destroyer came within a few hundred meters of the _Darius_ _Centauri_, Sofan was as alert as he'd ever been in his entire life.

"We're now within transporter range, sir." Chief Engineer Lassiter announced.

Sofan, his eyes unwavering from the angular freighter on the forward view screen, acknowledged Lassiter with a sharp nod of his head. "Thank you. Prepare to begin transporter operations, Chief. Helmsman, full stop."

"Answering full stop, sir."

This ship, already crawling on maneuvering thrusters, slowed to a full stop within seconds. "Navigator, lower the shields."

"Aye, sir. Shields are down."

"Communications officer, hail the _Darius_ _Centauri_. Advise them that we're ready to begin transporting their personnel aboard at their convenience."

"Aye, sir."

The captain briefly turned his attention to the Caitian science officer at his right. "Commander T'Creedy, what are the sensors telling you about that freighter?"

T'Creedy's green eyes, which sharply contrasted against his jet black fur, turned away from the science monitor and to his captain. "Nothing out of the ordinary, sir."

"What do the library computers tell you about its history?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." T'Creedy all but purred. "It's been registered to a small trading consortium for the last six months, ferrying cargo of various nature to small outposts and colonies in this sector."

"And before that?"

"Unknown. However, this particular class of vessel is relatively new. It's possible that its construction was completed about that time."

Sofan turned back to the forward view screen. "Starfleet Security should have a record of the vessels registration in their database. See if you can—"

T'Creedy's attention was pulled from his captain instantly by a proximity alarm on his console. His paws ran quickly over the switches of his computer as he accessed all relevant sensors data. "Proximity warning, Captain!"

Sofan looked out at the Darius Centauri, floating as motionless as the Maryland. "Not from them."

"Negative. But it _is_ a short range sensor contact."

_Could it be one of the other ships in the 4__th__ getting too close_, Sofan had to ask himself. "From where?"

"Port side, aft. Range: five-thousand kilometers and closing rapidly, sir."

"Another freighter we missed?"

"Negative, sir. The heat signatures can only be coming from Klingon's, sir."

Commander Sofan whipped his head to face the science officer. "What?"

The half second movement gave T'Creedy the time he needed to confirm his readings. "Several Klingon ships, sir. They're closing in on our position rapidly!"

Sofan looked out to the freighter looming off the bow. "This is a trap!"

He didn't have time to order the shields be raised before the first torpedo struck the hull of the _Maryland_.

The scene on the bridge of the Empress was no different. As soon as the Klingon vessels had been detected, Fleet Captain Hathaway had ordered the shields up, but the Klingon's had already made a successful first strike on the helpless Federation frigate. The communications station had erupted in a ball of flame immediately after the impact, killing Lieutenant Flores instantly. Lieutenant Davidson had also been injured when he was thrown from his station, but after stumbling for a few moments he was back at his post and trying to give the Empress some maneuvering room.

That was when the freighters opened fire.

A pair of small compartments had opened in the side of the _Marcus Centauri_'s forward hull, and two disruptor turrets immediately emerged. They began spraying the Empress with a hail of bolts, most of them striking the underside of her saucer shaped primary hull and she tried to turn and extricate herself from the area. The lower sensor dome was shattered in the exchange, leaving the ship without both the long and short-range sensors she needed to fight.

On the bridge, Rear Admiral Darius Cody was too struck with fear to issue orders. His hand firmly grasping the back of the command chair and trying not to look at the fragmented remains of the communications officer, he was trying frightfully hard just to keep himself from vomiting his lunch. His skin had turned a sickly white and there was a thick film of sweat all over his face.

At last sensor report, there were no less than three D-10 battle cruisers in the Klingon's arsenal, and a score of D-6 light cruisers. They easily had the 4th battle squadron outmatched, and both Admiral Cody and Fleet Captain Hathaway knew it. There only chance was to escape.

Hathaway, firmly entrenched in the command chair, leaned in towards the helmsman. "Helm, get us out of here! Best possible speed!"

The hull took another pounding. Hathaway knew for certain that the weapon of choice this time was a torpedo. The violent jolt upwards caused two of the bridge crew to loose their footing, casting them to the deck in a heap of arms and legs. By the free movement in the swivel of his command chair, Hathaway knew one of the fallen had been Cody. "Commander Mantuka, see to the Admiral."

Cody was sobbing openly, clutching his fits to his chest in the fetal position behind the captain's chair. "I don't want to die!" he repeated several times before Hathaway ordered him silent.

"Shut him up or get him off the bridge! I don't care which, Commander! Just do it!"

Onboard the _Chicago_, the Tellerite Commander Ertik was fully engaged in the battle and was savoring each minute.

"Bring all weapons to bear on the closest Klingon!"

"But sir! That's a D-10. We'd never stand…"

"We're going to give him a fight he'll never forget, navigator! Fire a series of photon torpedoes directly at the bridge. That should get his attention."

The young officer turned quickly back to his controls and inputted the firing pattern into the weapons computer. "Torpedo's ready, sir!"

"Fire now!"

A trio of blue-white torpedoes streamed out of the destroyer, flying towards the Klingon battle cruiser with unbelievable speed. Two of them impacted against their target, the third veered off and flew out into open space.

"Negligible damage to the Klingon's sir." The science officer responded instantly. "They're swinging around for an attack run."

"Helm, stay on their tail. I don't want to look down their throats."

The science officer chimed in again. "Sir, two more contacts to port! Cruisers, sir. They're firing!"

"Brace for impact!"

The pair of D-6's descended on the small destroyer that had opened fire on their comrade. They fired first with disruptors, then followed up with a barrage of photon torpedoes. The _Chicago_'s shields didn't last long under the onslaught. In less than fifteen seconds the Starfleet vessel had been completely pulverized.

Two other _Loknar_'s—the _Nova_ and the _Quest_—had managed to disable one of the D-6 cruisers with a fast passing strike over its dorsal side. The came about in a line abreast formation, taking aim at one of the D-10 battle cruisers. Thinking they could disable the Klingon's impulse drive, they came down on the larger ship from a high Z-plane, firing with full lasers at the aft end of the enemy's hull. The beams struck the Klingon multiple with little to no effect. They kept firing until the very last second, pulled up hard, and sailed over the Klingon with only a few meters to spare. The _Nova_ had performed a high turn to starboard, making sure to protect its stern from any incoming fire the D-10 might unleash. The _Quest_ had turned to port, but quickly found itself in the line of fire of another D-6. When it turned back to starboard to avoid an incoming torpedo, it was right in the sight of the battle cruiser.

The D-10, its enormous gray hull shimmering in the reflected sunlight of the Giso VIII, brought all of its forward firing weapons to bear on the small Federation frigate. The disruptor beams on wither side of the bridge module fired first, followed quickly by the beams in the port and starboard forward stanchions. The combined firepower quickly disintegrated the _Quest_'s shields. Moments later a pair of torpedoes lanced out from the cruiser, one striking the port warp pylon and the other hitting the frigates amidships area. Fragments of the hull were ejected out into space as a gaping hole was opened just aft of the bridge. The _Quest_ lurched down, then twisted to port at an odd angle. It was clear to everyone that she'd lost her steering controls and was now adrift, helpless to defend herself against another barrage from the battle cruiser. When the Nova came back around to help defend its stricken comrade, the Quest was nowhere to be seen, with only an expanding sphere of debris in place of the frigates last recorded position.

Admiral Juriss watched impassively from the command deck of the Imperial battle cruiser _T'Torka_ as the last remnant of the Federation squadron was incapacitated. His flagship, one of only a handful of D-10 starships in service with the fleet, had fought well against the miniscule defense of the Earther's, although his taste for conquest was far from quenched.

His staff aid was at his side, rattling on about the battle that was over nearly as soon as it had begun. "And sir, the _Vor'Nass _has secured the battle cruiser!" he finally exhaled at last. This was something that did pique the admiral's curiosity.

"Was the fleet commander captured as well?" Juriss asked, leveling his black eyes at the young aid.

"It does not appear so."

Juriss nodded heavily. "Then he has died in combat," he replied mournfully. "A fitting end for a warrior."

"That is not known either, my lord."

"Oh? How can that be? Either he is alive or he is not!"

"We received a signal from Captain Su'Ho only minutes ago. His boarding party found no such person onboard the ship."

"And we _are_ sure of our reports, yes? This _Baton Rouge_ is the flagship of Admiral Darius Cody, is it not?"

"It is, my lord."

"Then we must find the admiral at once," he said tersely. "He has valuable information in his possession. Of that I am sure."

"It is possible he took residence on one of the smaller vessels prior to the battle, sir."

Juriss turned fully to aid. At just over two meters tall, he towered over the smaller man. His fist was clenched at his side, his frustration welling up against the aid who was—after all—not to be blamed for this error. He sighed heavily before returning his tone to a manageable level. "A commander would never leave his flagship. Its purpose serves him, and the two would be lost without one another."

"Yes, my lord. But, how else can it be explained?"

"Yes. How indeed?" Admiral Juriss nodded his head, then brought his hand to his short beard and began to stroke it absently for a moment as he considered the alternatives. "He must be hiding on the cruiser."

The aid took a step back in shock as if the words spoke by Juriss had offended him. "A commander who hides from the face his adversary? Unthinkable!"

"Yes. In our way of thinking, it would never be so. But these are humans. And humans are as much like us as we are like the Romulans… or the peace loving Vulcans. No, this Earther commander has no spine. I can taste his fear from here. It wafts across my bridge like the foulest stench imaginable."

"You are sure he is alive, my lord?"

Juriss nodded solemnly once more. "Something of him remains. I _know_ it. We must find him, if only to bring him the death he must now surely long for."

"Yes, Admiral."

Juriss turned back to the large display screen at the front of the bridge. On it, two D-6's were bringing the Baton Rouge—or what was left of her—along side the _T'Torka_ for the admiral's personal inspection. Behind them, another D-10 had a frigate held fast in her tractor beam. The frigate had fared worse than the cruiser, and with both of the warp nacelles gone and some buckling to a majority of the outer hull plating, Juriss held little hope of salvaging anything useful from the smaller ship.

"That frigate there," he said, pointing a long, bony finger at the image on the screen. "J'Mel, what is its designation?"

"It is the _Empress_, my lord. _Loknar_-class." The aid replied, coming to stand next to his commander before the large screen.

"Survivors?" he asked sternly, his finger still jutting out toward the sorry looking vessel.

"A handful, sir. No more than thirty remain from a crew of nearly a hundred."

Juriss finally lowered his hands, a razor sharp smile creeping across his face. "Excellent. Bring them aboard the _T'Torka_ immediately. I wish to question them personally."

"Is there something specific you wish to learn from them, my lord? Surely no one on such a small ship has access to the best laid plans of Starfleet Command."

Admiral Juriss continued to study the small ship as if it were the most precious of jewels. As the heavy cruiser towed it steadily closer to the T'Torka Juriss licked his lips slowly. "You forget, Lieutenant that our supply chain runs thin. We have stretched ourselves to the limit to get this far into Federation space. At every turn it seems that the Federation rushes in to cut us off at our tail. Once they have done that, we will be vulnerable." He walked to the view screen, then placed a heavily gloved hang against the image of the _Empress_ and stroked it like an adored beast. "We must have all of the information we can tear from their personnel and their computers." He slowly lowered his hand after a moment, then turned abruptly to the young aid. "You understand your orders then?"

"I do, sir."

"Then obey and see to the frigate personally. I will deal with this Federation heavy cruiser. But be warned, if even the smallest of stones is left unturned, if even the slightest amount of data escapes your scrutiny, I will hold you personally responsible for the transgression. You will die, at my own hands, slowly and with much pain."

The Lieutenant stood motionless; the only sign that he comprehended the Admiral's order was a slight, sharp nod of his head.

The admiral halfheartedly smirked. "Success, my son," then he turned to regard the Starfleet frigate moving ever closer to their position.

The Lieutenant smashed his balled fist against his left breast. "Kap'Lah, father! It will be done."

Two hours later, Lieutenant J'Mel had beamed aboard the _Baton Rouge_ in search of his father. The _Baton Rouge_ was the third Earther starship he'd been able to visit. The first was an aging scout vessel that had been captured by his father early last year. The second had been the far more recent capture of the _Empress_. From what little was left undamaged inside the Federation battle cruiser, J'Mel was not impressed with the general appearance of Starfleet vessels.

He was told that his father was in the engine room of the great ship. After a fruitless attempt to find the Starfleet commander of the battle group, Admiral Juriss had concentrated his efforts on discovering what secrets this vessel might hold. With the remainder of the Baton Rouge's crew held in captivity on a battle cruiser that was already on it's way to a make shift garrison in the Morales system, Juriss was free to do as he wished on the mighty vessel.

J'Mel found his father in the chief engineer's office, leaning over a schematic diagram of the warp propulsion system.

"Admiral, I come bearing good news."

Juriss was unmoved. "You could have transmitted it to me here. I am quite busy."

"But sir, I have located the Federation battle group commander."

Juriss shot a look of utter surprise to his son. "He is alive?"

"He is wounded, but he will live."

"And you are sure that it's is Admiral Cody?"

"Transvids have confirmed a positive match, sir."

Juriss was suddenly at a loss as to what his next move should be. He had become so enamored with the Baton Rouge that he now found himself in a quandary as to what to do with the prize admiral. "Location?"

"I found him onboard the _Empress_. He had barricaded himself inside his cabin and had quite a sizeable cache of weapons at his disposal."

"How did you extricate him?"

"I cut a small opening in the bulkhead, then used the new experimental gas to force him out."

The 'new gas' he spoke of was a recently devised biological weapon that was to be used on large scale Federation planetary assault forces. Diluted down, it made a potent deterrent, rending the target unable to control many of their bodily functions within seconds of exposure. Juriss approved of his aids methods.

"A fitting way to capture a coward. You have done well, my son."

"Thank you, my lord. The admiral is currently onboard the _Kav'Nus_ and awaiting your interrogation."

Juriss stood and clasped his hands to his son's shoulders. "You will take over here for me, then."

"'Sir?"

"The _Baton Rouge_ is yours, my son. As my reward to you for brining me the prisoner, you alone will take credit for this particular spoil. It will be mentioned with pride in my personal communication to the High Council." Juriss waved his hand around the engineer's office as he spoke.

"I would be honored to assume command here, sir." J'Mel beamed with pride.

"We must get underway soon. Make ready to tow the _Baton Rouge_ and the _Empress_ to our base in the Zalvhros system. I will join you on the _T'Torka_ after I've had a little… _conversation_ with this Earther admiral."

"It will be as you say, my lord."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Stardate: 4202.21

February, 2254

Office of the Commanding Officer, Starfleet Command, Admiral John Murdock, San Francisco, Earth.

Admiral Murdock ran a dry hand through his white hair as he inspected himself in the mirror that hung in the private bathroom adjacent to his office. In the last few months he'd noticed the subtle change in the color. Where he once saw fleeting strands of auburn, the hair color of his youth, he now only saw random stands of the silver-gray color his hair had assumed prior to the war with the Klingons. Now capped with a large crown of white, and the fact that his arthritis had begun to flare up again, he was both looking and feeling his age.

_I should be enjoying myself_, he thought humbly. _I should be out giving lectures to academy graduates, or meeting new council members at some lavished party on some distant planet in the far reaches of Federation space_. _Instead I'm here, deciding the fate of thousands of men and women while the live of billions hang in the balance._ _It's_ a_ll because of those accursed Klingons. Why couldn't they have just left 'well enough' alone? Lord knows they certainly have enough space of their own to explore and conquer._

He sighed heavily, giving his dress uniform one final inspection before departing the quiet of his office for the Federation presidential residence in Paris.

President Alhok Ixan, of Deneva, was now deep into his third term, and rapidly approaching the time where he would face re-election. While the president had requested Admiral Murdock presence for a formal briefing on the war effort, John felt secure in the knowledge that the president was merely looking for good news that he could delve out to his constituents. The Admiral tolerated politics to a point. It was, after all, in the nature of his job. But it was only to a point. There was a war to win, and whether Ixan was president or not at the end of it, it presently mattered very little to John Murdock. As Commander in Chief of Starfleet, Murdock's own tenure in that position wouldn't be up until six months after the general election. He had almost two more full years to contribute to Starfleet before his retirement and he was determined to make them count for something.

As his private shuttle departed the landing pad on the roof of Starfleet Command headquarters, he managed to glace up into the beautiful blue sky on this fine winters morning. The rain storms of the last few days had passed, giving everything below the shuttle a fine dusting of water. Without a single cloud in the sky, he focused his eyes past the distant horizon. His minds eye took him up through the layers of atmosphere and out into the great star filled heavens. Further out his mind took him, until at last he was at the frontlines of the war nearly a hundred light-years distant from Earth. Fixated on a starship with no particular name, his mind then turned back towards its home. Earth was so far away as to be unseen by the naked eye. Even the blazing inferno of the Terran sun was a pinpoint of light amongst thousands of others. Still, his mind sought it out and found it, reveling in how small and seemingly insignificant it was. It was this thought that he tried to remind himself every moment he was awake: that even someone so small, on something so far removed from the death and destruction of the war, could make a difference. Everyone in Starfleet was striving to make a difference, and Admiral John Murdock would be no different.

As the shuttle soared out over San Francisco bay he leaned back in his plush chair, knowing full well that most other officer in the fleet weren't afforded such luxury. Perhaps this was something he should change? Every man, woman, and being from every race in Starfleet should be as well treaded as their Commanding Officer. At least, that's what John felt when he realized that somewhere, out in the distance, a man was lying prone on a moderately comfortable bed, not knowing that in less than twenty-four hours…perhaps less, that his ship would be in the midst of a huge battle he might not walk away from. Still, the desires of wanting to lavish his personnel in luxuries was second to the message he was about to present the president. There would be time enough for such trivial requests later.

The shuttle had now reached the upper atmosphere, and small pinpoint lights of stars were slowly becoming visible through an ever darkening haze of blue sky. Moments later the shuttle arched over, never fully entering outer space, as it descended towards the western European continent. The entire continent filled the view screen. Quickly the view port was filled with simply France, with Great Britain passing quickly beneath them as they descended nearly straight down to the English Channel. Soon they were in Paris, with the presidential estate only minutes away.

Admiral Murdock watched as the shuttle soared past the Eifel Tower, still the same majestic spire that it had been for the last several hundred years. He thought back to only a short time ago when the shuttle was ascending into the sky past the Golden Gate bridge, and was silently happy that these few monuments to mankind had been spared the ravages of the Earth following the great Eugenics War.

As the shuttle lightly touched down on the lawn of the presidential estate a small cadre of officials came out to greet the Starfleet commander. One of them was Vice Admiral Kory Woodrolf, commander of Starfleet Intelligence. As Murdock departed the shuttle's portside hatch, Kory Woodrolf was the first to greet his old friend with a welcoming handshake.

"It's good to see you again, Admiral Murdock," he said with a warm smile.

John smiled back with genuine elation. "And you as well, Admiral Kory." It'd been some months since the two had last seen one another. Woodrolf had recently arrived from a gathering of the top intelligence officers on the plant Argelius. It had taken him weeks to get back to Earth, and both he and Murdock were happy to be in one another's company once again.

Vice Admiral Woodrolf outstretched his hand toward the presidential estate. "The president is waiting, sir."

"Very good."

As Murdock began to take the few steps that would bring him to the president's office, Kory quickly jumped a step behind him and whispered softly into his ear. "Just don't leave without me. As soon as we're done here I'm hoping back on the shuttle with you and heading back to San Francisco."

"Come now, Kory. Are you trying to tell me you've got a hot date lined up?"

Woodrolf couldn't help but laugh at the joke, considering that it was Murdock himself that had introduced him to his wife. "You could say that. Sarah called just before you arrived. She's made her world famous bread pudding for desert tonight. She said I could bring a friend home, if he was so inclined to join us."

As the two men neared the great oak doors that would lead them into the president's foyer, Admiral Murdock crooked his head back over his shoulder for an instant. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"*****"

"So, is there anything else you'd like to add to your formal report, gentleman?"

The three men had been at their meeting for nearly an hour. Then had gone over every after action report for each incident involving the Klingons over the last several months. Their report showed that, although the strides were small, they were beginning to make some small dents in the Klingon's push into Federation space.

Admiral Woodrolf now felt it was time to tell the president about the research projects that Starfleet Intelligence had been working on.

"We've been making staggering progress on the new phased weaponry systems, sir."

"Ah yes," Alhok said with instant recognition. "The new weaponry that's going to help us turn the tide decidedly in our favor."

Kory nodded. "We're hoping so, sir. Large scale prototyping and testing had already completed with a great deal of success. Federation R&D is now miniaturizing and refining the weapon to fit it aboard several test starships."

"When can we expect fleet deployment of the weapon?"

"The best estimates point to three to four months before we can begin rotating ships off the front lines to outfit them, sir."

"Excellent, Admiral. I'd like to see the reports from the prototypes as soon as possible."

"Of course, sir. We've also been working on a more advance photon torpedo as well. I've had a team of specialists analyzing several captured Klingon vessels over the last six months. We've found that, in some areas, their shielding is simply too powerful for our current torpedoes, to say nothing about the fact that it renders our accelerator cannons completely useless."

"Very good. Are we looking at the same timeframe for deployment of these new torpedoes as we are about the phasers?"

It was Murdock's time to chime in. "No, sir. In fact, with your approval, we can begin rotating ships into their nearest star bases and begin outfitting them before the months end. We've already got several shipments sent out to Star Bases Twenty-Three, Twenty-Seven, and Twelve."

"So, what you're telling me, Admiral Murdock, is that we're making positive strides in the war on nearly every front?" the president had asked, just as the briefing between the three men was coming to a close.

"Yes, sir"

President Ixan rapped his bony fingers on his desk in a moment of silence before he spoke again. "Then perhaps one of you can tell me about the debacle at Giso last month." Ixan shot back with obvious annoyance.

Kory knew this was going to come up and, having fully prepared himself for the question, took the center stage. "Rear Admiral Cody made an unscheduled, unwarranted inspection of the 4th Battle Squadron, sir. We had no idea of what he was doing until the incident took place. He was supposed to be heading back towards the relative safety of the inner sphere."

"_Incident_?" the president spat back. "It's a public relations nightmare, gentleman. An entire battle squadron was lost with all hands. Not mention the fact that a highly decorated flag officer was killed in the line of duty. It puts a _serious_ mark on your current positive report of the situation."

"He could well have been captured, sir. We don't know."

"That thought does _not_ inspire me, Admiral Woodrolf."

"Yes, sir. None the less, we've had to work double time to change some of our procedures and all of our communications and cryptographic codes. If the Klingons captured one or any of the ships in the 4th, whatever information they manage to pull from the personnel or the computers will be useless to them."

"None the less, we need to make up for this… this error in judgment."

Both Murdock and Woodrolf exchanged glances, neither knowing what the president was getting at and wondering if the other did.

"How do you propose to do that, sir?" Murdock asked.

"By doing something I've been considering for many weeks now and something that the destruction of the 4th has given me leverage in the Federation council to use as leverage. Invasion."

"I'm sorry, sir," Woodrolf asked incredulously. "Did you say invasion?"

"Indeed I did, Admiral. And I know just the place."

Murdock felt compelled to speak. "Sir, please forgive me, but I'm not sure that's a practical idea."

"Nonsense, Admiral. It's the perfect response to the destruction of our forces. It's high time we struck back against the Klingon's instead of simply trying to push them out of our space. And, with the addition of the new photon torpedoes, we will send a clear message to the Klingon high command that we too can make territorial gains."

Both Murdock and Woodrolf, knowing they were at the mercy of their ultimate commander, silently decided to listen to what the president proposed.

"And what it is you suggest, Mr. President?"

"Simple. We will gather up a ground force of our finest marine battalions and take the Klingon garrison at Rudgor III."

"Rudgor, sir?"

"Precisely. Its position right on their side of the border makes it an ideal target, not to mention its close proximity to the Arcanis IV research facility. Our forces will leave from Starbase Twenty-Three under total secrecy in the fastest transports and heavy cruisers we can muster. Using the some of our new high-speed assault transporters, we can beam the entire marine until down in less than an hour and take the planet before the Klingon's know what hit them."

"This will take a monumental amount of intelligence to undertake, sir" Kory said with doubt.

"All the better for both of you gentleman to begin planning immediately."

"I'm sure we can formulate a strategy that would see our forces on Rudgor in three months."

"Unacceptable, Admiral Kory. I want them there, on Rudgor, in less than thirty days."

"But, sir—"

"I want the flag of the Federation flying on that planet in thirty days, gentleman! Make it happen. I don't care how you do it. Just get it done."

With that, the President dismissed the officers to their respective duties. There would be no desert for either of the men tonight.

"* * * * *"

Stardate: 4203.19

April, 2254

"Marine, you _will_ secure that load and get a move on, double time! Do you understand? I mean now, soldier. Now!"

"Yes, Colonel! Right away."

The younger man, Captain Loftner, scurried away from the Colonel's presence, making it to the rear of the landing craft in a record three strides. He immediately lifted the half fallen supply crate back onto its shelf, then re-secured the detached hold-down strap that had come loose during the crafts rather bumpy descent through the planets thick, hazy atmosphere.

Colonel Wilhelm Mann'dela, his ancestry rich in Germanic heritage, stood tall and proud in the center of the shuttle as he watched his supply officer follow his order. True, there had been enlisted men present who could have easily done the job for the Captain, but Colonel Mann'dela believed that it was the responsibility of the officers to ensure that the duties assigned to their subordinates were carrier out to the letter. Failing to do so, it would be up to the officers to accomplish the task—whether they liked it or not.

Seeing that Captain Loftner had firmly taken a hold of the situation, Wilhelm removed the brown and red camouflaged hat covering his short, thick black hair, giving his scalp a firm brush in the process. He turned and looked out of the small viewport on the front of the shuttle, watching the drab rust-red peaks of Rudgor tallest mountain rage rush up to meet the quickly descending shuttle. Most of the ground forces had already landed well ahead of the Colonel. They had captured the Klingon garrison after a brief but intense firefight, and the Colonel was now going to survey the captured base.

All things considered, he was quite proud of every man and woman in the 5th Marine Regiment that day. Even Captain Loftner, whom he was usually at odds with, was particularly helpful in making sure that the maximum amount of supplies and weaponry had been available to the invading marines.

It had started with their arrival at the planet. The flotilla of assault craft, shuttle carriers, heavy cruisers, and heavy destroyers that made up the 77th Battle Force had met little resistance when they arrived at Rudgor. There'd only been a handful of K-17 escorts in high orbit above the planet, with two squadrons of K-3 gunboats slightly closer to the planet. They had been easily dispatched, with only the loss of one heavy cruiser and a destroyer to the Klingon forces.

The landing of the marines? Well, that was a different story. While most of the marines had been transported to the surface, some of their large equipment had to be taken down via assault shuttles launched form the _Santee_-class carrier _Cordoba. _But, do to poor intelligence reports, three of the shuttles had been lost to a squad of Klingon's that had been stationed at aerial turrets near the same mountains Mann'dela was traveling over now. Several tons of sensitive communications equipment, not to mention the evening meals, was lost in the exchange. Due to the small amount of shuttles available to make such a journey, the Colonel was now forced to ride in a ship full of consumables.

It had been a small price to pay, considering the overall ease with which they had secured the Klingon base. Fleet Captain Sandborn had secured all of the approaches to the planet and, with that, victory had been theirs. Wilhelm only hoped they could keep a hold of the planet. He knew that the Klingon's would've had to have dispatched a message to their superiors—he would surely have done so in their place—and those same superiors were probably amassing a fleet to retake the planet even now.

As the landing craft neared the designated makeshift landing pad that had been hastily erected by the embarked construction battalion, Mann'dela couldn't help but ponder the possibility of a ground battle against the Klingons. The enemy would almost certainly try to begin their attack with an orbital bombardment. The marines had seen fit to transport a number of surface-to-space photon torpedo launchers, as well as a small battery of portable phaser cannons for just such an attempt. However, Mann'dela also had confidence in the abilities of Fleet Captain Sandborn and the rest of the 77th Battle Force to keep them save. The colonel had seen their tactics first hand when they had arrived at the planet, and the relative ease with which the Starfleet forces had dispatched the Klingon's already waiting in orbit. If the Fleet Captain could maintain the same sort of resolve with any future forces that might try to retake the planet, those Klingon's would surely be in for the fight of their lives.

Wilhelm smiled to himself with satisfaction as the craft slowly touched down on its pad. The aft hatch slowly opened, and in wafted the heat wave of the oppressive atmosphere. His first thought was for his men and women, wondering how they were coping with the harsh heat. Seeing to their proper hydration would be his first duty, and he stopped the earliest junior officer he saw with a grab to his arm as he passed by the colonel.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Stardate: 4203.23

March, 2254

5th Marine regiment encampment, Rudgor III.

"Send in the second squad to reinforce the 16th battalion. I want those laser cannons on the south ridge in five minutes or you're all fired!" Mann'dela screamed into his communicator. Another Klingon gunboat appeared over the horizon, hanging seemingly motionless over the purple hue of the distant mountains. It looked much like its larger cousins, the slightly larger D-6 destroyer. However, what the gunboat lacked in size and armament, it made up for in speed—not to mention its ability to make the atmospheric transit from space, one of the few enemy vessels capable of doing so with relative ease. The small craft, manned by no more than five or six, slowly began to turn on its axis as it scanned the area looking for a target. When it had acquired it, beams of green disrupter energy snaked out of the forward half of the vessel towards the ground.

Just as he had predicted, the Klingon's had returned to Rudgor III to reclaim their planet. They'd arrived in the system barely an hour before. To the delight of the Starfleet vessel captains, the Klingons had decided—for whatever reason—not to bring any of the new heavy battle cruisers with them for the battle. That decision alone had probably saved the lives of countless Starfleet officers, to say nothing about the fact that it made the Federation blockade all the more manageable. As it was, Fleet Captain Sandborn, onboard the _Achernar_-class commander cruiser _Ramses_ still had a difficult time routing the bulk of the Klingon fleet away from the planet. The Klingon's had arrived with a five medium cruisers, ten light cruisers and nearly as many destroyers—not to mention the five landing ships containing nearly three thousand troops.

With the majority of the twenty eight ships of the 77th Battle Force engaged against the bulk of the Klingon forces, four of the enemy transports had broken through the thinly stretched Federation defenses, managing to land their complement of troops and supplied before several Starfleet destroyers swooped won on them and blew them form the stars. The loss of the Klingon transports, having served their purpose, probably meant very little to the Klingon commanders, but it was quite a morale boost to the Starfleet captains. Within thirty minutes the Starfleet captains had destroyed or routed all of the enemy cruisers, and a majority of the destroyers, without suffering a single loss to their numbers. It seemed that the battle tested captains of Starfleet commander were beginning to show their metal after all. On the surface, however, Federation victory was sill far from assured.

From his vantage point, Colonel Mann'dela had no visual on the intended victims of the energy burst, but he knew from the position of the gunboat that it was more than likely the 3rd and 4th heavy infantry divisions. He had sent the hover tank squadrons out there himself to shore up the defenses on the eastern side of the ever expanding battlefield. The Colonel watched from relative safety, up on a high outcropping overlooking the enormous valley below. Down below the bulk of his forces were managing to keep the Klingon's at bay, neither one of the two opposing forces gaining or loosing ground in the battle.

Wilhelm heard the distant sound of thunder as a warm breeze fluttered a crossed his face. He turned his laser binoculars towards the direction of the noise and was greeted by two plumes of smoke on the south-eastern horizon. The columns of black and brown smoke, capped by angry, billowing black mushroom heads, were only now rising high above the desolate landscape. Knowing that the 5th marine regiment had no heavy equipment in the area, Wilhelm surmised that the marines must have downed one or two of the enemy gunboats. His conclusions were solidified a few moments later when his communications officer reported that a squad from the 10th mechanized artillery division had managed to neutralize two Klingon vessels with well placed laser grenade strikes.

The remainder of the ground forces—consisting mostly of the mobile infantry—was in the valley below. Mann'dela was watching them now as each squad seemed to scurry from one small bit of cover to another, finding the best angle of attack for their respective targets, then moving back to their initial positions to pick out another group of Klingon combatants to take aim at. Thankfully there were no other Klingon's in orbit that could produce more troops. The 5th regiment seemed evenly matched at this point, and any further interloping by the Klingon's could easily swing the balance into their favor.

There was, however, the matter of three small Klingon landing craft that had landed on the surface some distance away. Preliminary scans from the orbiting Federation starships had yielded little facts as to their contents and were only sure of one thing: they contained no other life forms other than the two pilots it took to fly the craft into the atmosphere. If the craft contained equipment or weaponry for the invading Klingon's, it didn't seem to matter to the Klingon forces that were already engaged in combat. Not a single Klingon had attempted to get within two hundred meters of the three small vessels that were clustered neatly around one another. Mann'dela suspected it was some sort of trap, used by the Klingon's to lure the Federation forces away from the Klingon ground troops and put their flank at risk. The little ships could easily be set up as enormous bombs, so Mann'dela refused the chance to investigate them more closely time and again. He'd even ordered his assault shuttles to keep a safe distance, but also to maintain a tight sensor lock on them at all times just in case.

He continued to watch as large groups of his people exchanged small arms fire with a deeply entrenched squad of Klingon's several hundred meters from their position. Both the Klingon's and the marines seemed to have backed themselves into a corner, and Mann'dela tried to formulate a plan to get his people out safely.

"* * * * *"

"General M'Kel?" Major Tamog addressed his commanding officer with a quick salute.

"Yes, Major. What is it?"

"My lord, our forces are pinned down in sector G-9."

General M'Kel, tall by even Klingon standards, towered over the large table that had been set up in his command tent as he studied a computer generated map of the battlefield. The Federation forces, represented by bright yellow triangles, were holding their positions on nearly every front against the glowing red trefoils that represented the remainder of the 9th Imperial Assault detachment. M'Kel quickly discerned that these Earthers were quite a troublesome group of invaders. _No_, he thought to himself, _these are not simply Earther's. These are more than the rag tag leftover slop of the pitiful Starfleet that we'd face before. These were trained combatants that were now holding a line—and doing it well—against some of the best troops of the Klingon Empire. _An abnormal chill ran up his heavily armored spine, although he would be loath to admit it to anyone, even to himself. For the first time in this war that the Klingon emperor had put all of his hope and prestige on the line for, M'Kel actually felt as if he were facing an equal opponent. _No, these are not Earther farmers or peace lovers. These are warriors._

He studied the map for a few more seconds, not finding an easy answer to the problem at hand. For now, there was no way to force the Federation invaders into a compromising position. General M'Kel had, in fact, tried twice already, and failed each time, loosing precious men and equipment in the process. He was being forced to watch and wait, playing a very dangerous game with his Federation counterpart, watching for the Starfleet warriors to make a vital mistake. When it happened, he would exploit it, and he would crush them all. _It will be glorious_, he thought to himself as he smiled wickedly. _Then I will have this Federation commander head on my wall as a testament of the battle won here today._

"My lord?" Major Tamog asked again, both impatient for an answer and fearful that, if he was too insistent, his General would have him quickly dispatched with a knife to his throat.

M'Kel continued to study the map without giving his subordinate the satisfaction of a glance in his direction. "Patience, Major. We must have patience."

"But sir, is that… wise? Our men—"

The General snapped his head in the major's direction. "These are _my_ men, Major. Best you keep that on the tip of your tongue when you speak to me, or you will cease to have a tongue to speak with!"

Tamog knew instantly that he'd overstepped his authority. That he was still alive to take his next breath showed that his words were not as foolish as they could have been. He bowed his head, taking two steps back from the General in the process, giving honor to his superior and displaying his role as a subordinate. As a servant. "Of course, my lord."

M'Kel sighed heavily, then returned his cold stare back to the computer map. "The time has not yet come to make a hasty decision, Major. This Federation commander is a shrewd warrior. He blocks our every advance as we block his. He makes no attempt to push his line, and nor do we. We are waiting, he and I. When the time is right, we will strike. When we do, we will bite… and we will bit deeply indeed."

Tamog sneered in the General's direction. "Yes, General."

"In the mean time, we will shore up our defenses on the eastern side of the battle field. Authorize the flanking regiment to begin launching photon mortars at the enemy."

At that range it was too close, and Tamog knew it. The photonic mortars were lethal, shredding weapons that did an enormous amount of damage for a diameter of several meters. However, they were more finicky than reliable, occasionally misfiring or landing well short of their targets. With the proximity of the Klingon and Federation forces, an accident was inevitable. Why would the General authorize such an attack? Surely he wasn't desperate to swing the tide of the engagement, considering the speech he'd just given?

"Should I advise the men to set proximity fuses on the mortars, sir?"

M'Kel heard the concern in Tamog voice, but gave it little mind. An attack with mortars was risky, to say the least, but something needed to change. He hadn't heard from his flagship in over an hour, and he feared that perhaps they'd been dispatched by some fortunate Starfleet captain. It was a loathsome thought. He refused to allow the idea that they may have escaped into his mind. A Klingon would never surrender, even under nearly impossible odds.

Perhaps, he'd often mused to himself, it might have been a weakness of theirs: To blindly fight until the death is, regrettably, not enough sometimes. There is more to war than winning. However, to speak such words to the High Council, let alone to one's immediate superiors, was to pronounce your own death sentence. Like Major Tamog, he was the servant to a master. In the presence of Brigadier General Roktas, M'Kel was sure to cower to his superior's weight.

And here was Tamog, awaiting his commander's orders, just as Roktas was waiting impatiently on the home world for a positive report from M'Kel. General M'Kel, more than any other time in his life, now felt that all eyes were on him, and that he alone would be responsible for the success of this mission. Yes, it was time to act. This battle could not be left to chance, he saw that now.

"No. No proximity fuses. The mortars are to be armed the moment they leave the barrels. I want you to see to the bombardment personally, Major. Set the weapons to maximum yield and continue firing until you run out of ammunition or I order you to stop. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord!"

"* * * * *"

"Colonel Mann'dela, the Klingons are bombarding our troop to the east with photon mortars."

As Lieutenant Colonel Kendrick finished speaking, Wilhelm turned his binoculars east to focus on the troops there. He could see the photon rounds being lobbed high into the air, some striking the ground near his platoon's position, others exploding in midair well before they reached their intended target. _This was a risky move by the Klingon commander_, he though for a moment before another thought invaded his mind. _No, this is impatience. The Klingon commander knows full well how unreliable those weapons are._

As if to prove his point, he watched closely as a mortar round exploded behind the Klingon's line, scattering the mortar crew to pieces and leaving a smattering of pink Klingon blood throughout the area. _This is it! This is the sign!_

"Lieutenant Colonel Kendrick, tell the 2nd and 5th platoons to converge on that motor position."

"To aid our troops, sir?"

"Negative. I want them to rush the Klingons."

"But, they'll be wiped out by the mortars, sir."

Wilhelm agreed with a stoic nod. "It's possible, but I'm not counting on it. The Klingons are doing more damage to themselves then we are at this point, and I want to provoke them into continuing along their current line of logic. We'll let those bastards swing the odds into our favor for us."

"Yes, sir. I'll have the orders transmitted immediately."

"Before you do that, I want you to reroute the 17th mechanized infantry to lead the attack on the mortar entrenchments. Have the 2nd and 5th close behind them for cover."

"The hover tanks won't last long against those photon rounds, sir."

"It's a better alternative than sending in our troops alone. We can't provide them any air cover at this point, due to the disruptor cannon emplacements on the midline ridge. The tank will be a safer option."

"Because the mortar entrenchment is below their line of fire."

"Exactly," Wilhelm said with satisfaction before turning to Kendrick. He looked to the officer as if seeing him for the first time. At twenty-nine, Kendrick was the youngest Lieutenant Colonel in the Starfleet Marines. He'd risen through the ranks of Starfleet quickly to become a Commander and, once the official Marine Corps. Academy was established, immediately requested a transfer from the fleet. "What was your specialty in Starfleet again?"

"I started in navigation, sir. Then I moved to head up ships security on the Lexington when I made Lieutenant Commander."

"And your first command was the…?

"The _Bainbridge_, sir. NCC-4102. _Loknar_-class. My first and only command before I transferred to the corps."

"Ah, yes. Very good. Tough little ships, those _Loknar_'s."

"Yes, sir."

"My brother is executive officer on the _Bunker Hill_."

Kendrick's lit up with a bright smile. "I've heard of her, sir. One of the finest crews in the fleet, I hear."

"So it's been said. You and I will have to chat about those frigates when we're done down here."

Kendrick nodded, knowing full well by the tone of the colonel's voice that Mann'dela had his doubts as to weather any of them would survive the encounter. "Yes, sir. I'd like that."

"Good. Then I won't keep you from your duties. Go and make the arrangements for the assault to begin."

Kendrick snapped a quick salute, bringing his right hand abruptly to the brim of his cap and then lowering it just as smartly. "Right away, sir."

"* * * * *"

"What in blazes are those idiot Earthers doing? That's pure madness!" General M'Kel spat out a torrent of Klingon curses at the audacity of the Starfleet marines that were storming the Klingon mortar positions. The Federation hover tanks had come in fist. As large as they were, the sleek beasts moved with lightening efficiency as they powered full throttle through the Klingon line.

The Klingon officers had barely enough time to launch a counter attack, which itself was only marginally effective. Most of their photon rounds had either missed the tanks entirely or weren't nearly concentrated enough to cause the Starfleet marines any significant damage. They had come with their accelerator cannons blasting round after round into anything that moved. Two whole squads had been obliterated before the tanks powered over the trenches, and then continued on firing on anyone in the area. It was utter chaos.

Then the Earther marines had swarmed in behind their tanks, huddling above the long trenches that held dozens of Klingons, only to mow their targets down in moments. Then another troop of marines had come in, jumping into the trenches with reckless abandon to take out what little remained of the devastated Klingon battalion.

General M'Kel, watching from his distant perch, knew he had very little time before the backbone of the Klingon force was broken in two. He hastily grabbed his communicator and opened a channel to his executive officer.

"Major Tamog, report status!"

It took several more attempts to raise the Major before he finally came online. "Federation marines have completely overrun our position. I've moved the battle line to quadrant L-14 in an attempt to hold them off. We are making very little progress, sir."

"Repeat. You said L-14?"

A burst of static wafted through the communication before Tamog came online once again. "Affirmative, sir."

"And the modified freighters in sight?" M'Kel inquired with a concerned tone. There was one chance to win this battle, but it could cost him dearly. Indeed, it could cost him his very life, if not at the hands of the High Council, then by his own hands. He was about to discover if he would be the instrument of his own demise, not a promising prospect for a Klingon.

"They are, my lord. They appear undamaged and unmolested."

"Good. Take five of your best men and man the freighters immediately. When you are over the bulk of the target area you will release the chlortheragen."

"Sir, I _must_ protest! Our own men will be _killed!"_

"They will die as _Klingon's_, Major! That is something you will not be able to look forward too if you fail me! Understood?"

There was a short pause on the communications channel. Another explosion caught M'Kel's attention, and he turned to see a plume of smoke rise near one of the freighters. Raising his binoculars to his eyes he could see that the ships were undamaged by the shot that had left a five meter carter near their position.

"It is understood, General. We will take off immediately."

Two minutes later the heavily modified transports were in the air and hovering towards the center of the battlefield. One of the Federation hover tanks took aim at the lead transport and fired several rounds, taking out the crafts shields and damaging its maneuvering thrusters. M'Kel thought little of this. Soon everyone within the designated target area would die a most horrible death, including his own men.

It was a small price to pay. Victory would be his.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Stardate: 4204.05

April, 2254

Captain Christopher Pike sat stoically in the command chair on the bridge of the starship _Enterprise_. For the past hour the Enterprise had been the victim of some unseen and unknown force that was pelting the ship with wave after wave of spatial distortion. While the waves were far from dangerous, harmlessly washing over the _Enterprise_'s shields as the ship sailed through them, they did pose a significant threat to navigation in the area.

Truth be told, this was the last thing that Christopher wanted to deal with at the moment. The _Enterprise_ was currently on course to the Vega colony, which had been established on the planet Ing some three years ago. While it had started out as a trading post—the first one merchants often came into contact with once they left the Orion sphere and entered Federation space—it had quickly turned into a military outpost with the onset of the Klingon war. The Starfleet Corps of Engineers had quickly built a small military installation, complete with shuttle bays and maintenance hangers, as well as barracks for the over two-thousand Starfleet personnel and marines that were stationed there. They were to be the first line of defense, in the event the Orions decided to side with the Klingon's who were poised to invade their space.

However, once the Laxala Incident had taken place, the Orion-Klingon merger was quickly forgotten, and both sides quickly turned their attentions from Orion interests, making sure to keep their respective dilithium shipments flowing regularly in the process. It still served the Federation interests to keep the stationed manned, and the small outpost that was barley a light year from Orion space had grown steadily in the last several months.

This fact was not ignored by the Klingon's. Knowing that they could not invade Orion space and jeopardize their own dilithium shipments, they decided the next best thing was to take up position just outside of the nearly nineteen light-year wide sphere to 'keep watch on the untrustworthy traders.' With their shipyards at Veska in full swing, the Klingon's wanted to control a system on the direct opposite side of the sphere from the Klingon border. This was Tau Delta system, and the target planet was Ing.

The Klingon attack had been merciless. Three squadrons of D-7's, reinforced by D-10 battle cruisers and D-16 destroyers, began laying waste to the surface of the planet before the Starfleet personnel could muster an effective counter attack. The Klingon's had used some kind of biogenic weapon, something Starfleet had only recently become aware of. The pain and suffering the aerosol agent caused was beyond comprehension. It promised a slow, painfully agonizing death to anyone who was not inside a Class-II rated shelter—as most of the Vega colony was sorely lacking. If it hadn't been for the 43rd Battle Force, on patrol only a sector away, the entire colony would have been taken in only a few short hours. As it was, Fleet Captain Hector Busch, onboard his flagship, the USS _India_, had managed to route the Klingon's out of the system for the time begin. Unfortunately, with over half of his thirty-two ships in hot pursuit of the Klingons, he simply did not have the resources to assist the wounded that were still on the planet.

This is where Pike and the _Enterprise_ came in.

Once Busch had learned that the _Enterprise_ was in the area, he quickly corralled them into helping the survivors. Pike had raised an eyebrow to the request, reminding the Fleet Captain that _Constitution_ class starships were still expressly forbidden from engaging military targets. Busch had merely sidestepped the issue, calling it 'a technicality best left to the bureaucrats to squabble over.' Pike couldn't agree more. He wanted to fight as much as any man in the fleet, but his hands were tied fast. He was in command of the one of the strongest ships in the fleet, yet he and his crew were relegated to the sidelines for the immediate duration. Besides, Fleet Captain Busch _did_ mention that more Klingon forces may return to finish off the Vega colony while the 43rd was in pursuit, and if Pike were to engage some of the enemy in the process, so much the better. As it was, Hector and Pike were definitely of the same mind on the subject: Let's see if the _Enterprise_ can live up to her specifications.

So, with encoded orders in hand, Pike had eagerly set a course for the Vega colony. Besides, a rescue operation with the possibility of combat was a far better prospect than the hand he'd been dealt lately. The order to proceed to Vega colony was a decision that was made above his pay grade, unlike the incident on Rigel VII that was still fresh in his memories and in his nightmares.

As the image of his personal yeoman's fractured and shattered body came to forefront of his mind, he quickly realized that, while on the bridge, his attention needed to be focused on the hear and now.

As he watched the main view screen, waiting for the next flicker that would indicate the _Enterprise_ was passing through another distortion wave, one of the newest members of his crew approached his seat from behind. Pike had ordered a full diagnostic of the sensors, making sure that these waves weren't some new form of Klingon trickery. Spock, the new junior science officer, had handled the request personally. Now it was time to see if he'd discovered anything.

"Check the circuit, please." Spock said flatly over Chris's left shoulder as the Vulcan took up position behind the captain's chair.

The ships helmsman, Lieutenant $%$%$%$$, flicked at several switched on the console before him. All of the status lights immediately turned from yellow to green. "All operating, sir."

"Can't be the screen, then," came the reply from the ships first officer—or, as Pike liked to call her, Number One.

Once again the main viewer became distroted, as if a wall of rainwater had suddenly obscured whatever the view was attemtping to display. A moment later the image returned to its original crispness.

Spock had returned to the science station, peering into the short range sensor display. "Definitily something out there, Captain. Heading this way."

Pike looked back to the screen, trying to get a visual fix on something the sensors were sure was there. Then it was there again, the image of his young, attractive yoman, dead on the ground before his feet. As soon as he pushed the image aside another came in to take its place. This time the image war real, right there before him on the viewscreen. Was is it a ship? It was certainly moving fast enough. The spectral image of Klingon cruiser flashed acrossed his mind, disruptors blazing and raking the hull of the _Enterprise_ with wrekless abandon. The object on the viewer began to take shape, it pox marked exterior spinning wildingly in space as it neared the hull of the ship. It was a metorite.

As if on queue the helmsman spoke up in response to Mr. Spock's statement. "Could it be these metoroids?"

_Strange_, Captain Pike thought to himself. _We weren't supposed to pass this close to any metor showers?_ _Better make sure to calaouge this for navigational reference. _Chris wathced as the small planetary debris—some as small as a grapefruit, others as large as a small house—passed the Enterprise without so much as a bump in the hull. Lieutenant Lee Kelso was doing a masterful job at the helm, and Pike would have to complimement him on it the next time they found themselves in the wardroom together.

"No," Numbe One replied. "it's something else. There's something else out there."

Anbother burst distored the image on the main viewscreen. Chris was starting to get nervous. _What the devil is out there? _Captain Pike was about to order the shipt to yellow alert when, autmaticly in response to a perceived threat, the bridge klaxon began to sound rythmicaly. The triangular warning light on the front of Lieutenant Kelso's station began to pule it's red light.

"Coming at us at the speed of light. Collision course." Lee stated as he continued to watch his instruments.

The image on the forward viewer began to waver again. Now the waves were coming more frequently, nearly overlapping one another as the unknown object moved closer to the ship. Kelso, knowing that he didn't require the captain's permission to perform the normal duties expected of a helmsman, aimed the ships main navigational deflector directly at the target. At nearly full intensity he sent several large bursts from the ships particle deflector direclty at the opbect, hoping to either oblitherate it or move it out of the path of the ship. The adjustments had no effect on the incoming target.

"Metorite beam has not deflected it, Captain."

The first officer tunred to face her captain, her shoulder length black hair moving ever so slightly with the spin. "Evasive manuvers, sir?" She asked calmly.

Pike leveled his ice blue eyes at the main viewscreen, now a constant blur of interferance. Whetver it was that was coming at them, it wasn't intelligent life as they knew it. If it were, it would have turned long ago to avoid the colission. It was also too small to do any real damage to the ship. In fact, the short-range sensors were still not registering anything. Chris decided to call the unknown objects bluff. "Steady as we go." He turned his head to the Vulcan science officer, hoping to get an answer to the riddle that was heading towards them.

Spock, in response, rose an eyebrow in the direction of the captain and turned back to his instruments.

"It's a radio wave, sir." Spock said after double checking his instruments. "We're passing through an old style distress signal."

_Now that's more like it_, Pike thought. _Maybe this Vulcan will be worth something after all? _Christopher thought back to his history lessons on early space exploration, remembering quite vividly how old style distress signals operate. He never thought he'd actually ever hear one, though, much less see its effects. "They were keyed to cause interference and attract attention this way."

Spock turned his attention back to the long range scanners. He tapped into the ships library computers, then cross linked his terminal to the communications console to decode the message. "A ship in trouble making a forced landing, sir." The statement got the attention of everyone on the bridge. "That's it, I have no other message."

Lieutenant Kelso accessed the information from the science console, then directed the navigational computer in the direction transmissions source. "I have a fix. It's coming from the Talos star group."

Number One turned to face Lee, a look of confusion on her otherwise stoic face. "We've no ships or earth colonies that far out."

Spock continued to read off information from the library computer. "Their call letters check with a survey expedition, S.S. _Columbia_. Dispread in that region approximately eighteen years ago."

Lee kept his eyes fixed on wavering image on the view screen. "Would take that long for a radio beam to travel that far from there to here."

"Records show the Talos group has never been explored," Spock turned from Pike back to his computer. "Solar system similar to Earth… but with eleven planets. Planet number four seems to be…Class-M." He turned back to Pike, knowing that this bit of information should have perked the captain's interest. "Oxygen atmosphere."

Number One turned in her seat to face her captain. "Then they could still be alive… even after eighteen years?"

Yes, they could. It was a long shot, and Chris knew it. There were a thousand variables that would have to be taken into account. He'd known of no other castaways that had survived so long on an alien planet. Then again, if they were a survey team, they should've had the proper survival equipment to keep them alive. Another possibility—and the most likely one—is that it was an automated message, continuously broadcast by a solar powered transmitter from a team of intrepid explores who were long since dead. "If they survived the crash."

Spock could hear the uncertainty in Pike's voice, and he knew the course of action the captain was going to take before he voiced his question. "We aren't going to go? To be certain?"

Christopher had a bad feeling about this. It wasn't sitting well with him, but he couldn't ascertain why. It easily could be a trap. After all, Klingon's had been known to use tactics like this before to lure in an unsuspecting starship. And, knowing for a fact that some of the stragglers from the Vega colony attack could still be in the area, it gave all the more credence to that theory. Strange enough that no one else had ever heard the broadcast before. Surely there were merchants, traders, and military vessels from both Starfleet and the Klingon Empire flying very near to the Enterprise's current location in the last several months. Surely one of them should have heard the message as well? In the end, Chris was unconvinced this was a genuine distress call. He needed more proof before he was going to commit his starship away from their assigned task.

"Not without any indication of survivors, no." There were several worried looks across the bridge. It was standard procedure to respond to any distress call. In fact, it was a standing order by Starfleet Command. However, Chris also new that the official order was subject to the captain's interpretation and, what with the number of false distress calls being put out by the Klingon's lately, he wasn't about to risk another incident like what happened on Rigel VII. "Continue on to the Vega colony, take care of our own sick and injured first." Suddenly feeling a headache coming on, he turned to his trusted first officer. "You have the helm, maintain present course." As he rose from his chair and headed for the turbolift he caught a glimpse of Number One getting into the captain's chair before the lift doors closed quickly behind him.

"* * * * *"

As soon as Christopher entered his cabin he went straight for the communicator lying on his desk. The ships internal communication system had been experienceing some minor hicups lately, and he didn't want to chance the idea that his innocent boradcat would be asccidentally sent throughtout the entire ship. He flipped it open and turned it to the chief medical officers personal office, knowing ahewad of time that's exaclty where Doctor Boyce would be.

"Drop by my office," he said. Not waiting for a reply he tossed the communicator back on the desk and eyed his bed. He turned as he apprached it, turning and nearly flipping sideways before landing straight onto it's welcoming surface. Just as he began to relax his cabin door abruptly opened. It was both a good and bad thing, he often thought, that the CMO's office was right down the passage way from his quarters.

Doctor Philip Boyce, or Phil as he liked to be called by his friends, walked confidently into the room carring a large brown medical bag, which he sat sqarely in an empty chair opposite of the captain's bed. Pike watched as the doctor, a man quite advanced in both physcial age and Starfleet tenure, began to fiddle with the bags contents, which were obscured by the doctors lean body.

"What's that? I didn't say anything was wrong with me?"

Phil paid Chris little mind as he continued to withdraw items from the case. "I… ah… understand we picked up a distress signal."

Phil, ever the gossip king if there ever was one. It didn't surprise the captain at all that the good doctor was aware of the happenings on the bridge from only a few minutes ago. "That's right." Pike said, getting up from the bed and moving towards the bookcase alcove beside it. He withdrew the latest fuel consumption report and gave it a glace, not really bothering to focus on the contents. "Unless we get anything more positive on it, it seems to me the condition of our own crew takes precedence. I'd like to log the ships doctor's opinion, too."

Boyce stopped what he was doing long enough to regard the captain's statement. "Oh, I concur with yours, definitely."

He was still looking at the long list of numbers on the chart as he spoke to the doctor. "I'm glad that you do. Because we're going to stop first at Vega colony and replace anyone that needs hospitalization. We can also…" Chris heard the distinctive sound of ice hitting the bottom of an empty glass. "What the devil are you putting in there? Ice?"

With a glass in hand, Phil turned and offered it to the captain with a smile. "Who wants a warm martini?"

Chris looked at the drink pensively before regarding the doctor's smiling countenance. "What makes you think I need one?"

Phil only shrugged and, chuckling, turned to grab the drink he'd made for himself. "Sometimes…a man will tell his bartender things he'd…never tell his doctor." Phil raised his glass in a toast to the captain and took the empty seat next to the one holding his mobile bar. "What's been on your mind, Chris? The fight on Rigel VII?"

Chris tossed the fuel report onto the bed. He appreciated Phil's no-nonsense approach to conversation. "Shouldn't it be? My own yeoman and two others dead. Seven others injured."  
"Was there anything you could have personally done to prevent it?"

Chris took a drink and then set the glass aside. "Oh, I should have smelled trouble when I saw the swords and the armor. Instead I let myself get trapped inside that deserted fortress and attacked by one of their warriors."

Doctor Boyce took a drink for himself and then regarded the captain. "Chris you set standards for your self no one can meet. You treat everyone onboard like a human being expect yourself. And now your tired and—"

Chris's eyes narrowed as he cut off the doctor's sentence. "You bet I'm tired. You bet." He leaned back on the soft pillows of his bed and looked to the doctor. "I'm tired of being responsible for two hundred and three lives and… which mission is too risky and which isn't. And who's going on the landing party and who doesn't. And who lives…" he cast his eyes to the slowly melting ice in his martini. "And who dies. No, I've had it, Phil."

The doctor's voice was tinged with sympathy. "To the point of finally taking my advice and taking rest leave?"

"To the point of considering resigning."

"And do what?" Boyce asked with disbelief.

"Well, for one thing go home." His tone was far from convincing. "Nice little town with… fifty miles of parkland around it. Remember I told you I had two horses? We used to take some food out and ride all day."

Phil merely sipped at his drink. "Oh. That sounds exciting. Ride out with a picnic lunch… everyday."

The sarcasm of his tone was not lost on the captain. "I said that's one place I might go." Now even he felt as if he were defending his decision. "I… I might go into business on Regulus or something… or in the Orion colonies."

Phil nearly spat out his drink at Chris's suggestion. "You, and Orion trader, dealing in Green animal women? Slaves and—"

"The point is that this isn't the only life available. There's a whole galaxy of things to choose from."

Boyce exhaled slowly. Chris was confused and more disturbed by what happened on Rigel than he was letting on. He just needed time to sort it all out. "Not for you. A man…either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head on and licks it or he… turns his back on it and begins to wither away."

Chris could only smile at his old friend. "Now you're beginning to talk like a doctor, bartender."

"Take your choice. We both get the same two types of customers: The living, and the dying." Phil downed the rest of his drink in time for the ships intercom to chime in.

_I guess the engineers got that damn thing fixed finally_, Chris thought. A second later the image of Lieutenant Spock appeared on the monitor besides Chris's bed. "Mr. Spock here. We're intercepting a follow up message, sir. There are definitely crash survivors on Talos." The image then faded as quickly as it had appeared.

Pike looked to his drink and then back to Phil.

"Now what?" the doctor asked.

Chris knew what Phil was getting at, and there was little doubt as to what he should do next. The last thing he was going to do was turn a blind eye to the problem at hand. "You're welcome to stay and have another drink. I've got to get to the bridge."

"To wither away?"

Chris smiled and patted Phil shoulder gently as he walked past him. "To live life as it happens, bartender."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Stardate: 4205.01

May, 2254

Incoming subspace communication…

FROM: The Office of the Commanding Officer, Starfleet Public Relations, Commodore Joselyn Czernovski.

TO: All Commanding Officers, Galaxy Exploration Command.

VIA: (1) The Office of the Commanding Officer, Starfleet Command, Fleet Admiral John Murdock, San Francisco, Earth.

(2) The Office of the Commanding Officer, Starfleet Intelligence, Admiral Kory Woodrolf, San Francisco, Earth.

SUBJ: STATE OF AFFAIRS BETWEEN THE FEDERATION AND THE KLINGON EMPIRE

As of this stardate, the Secretary of Starfleet, in conjunction with the Federation Council, has decreed that the following addition to Starfleet's General Orders is now in effect:

General Order 7: No Starfleet vessel shall visit the planet Talos IV under any circumstances, emergency or otherwise. This order supersedes General Order 6 (relating to answering calls of distress by Federation or non-Federation members within Federation controlled space). Any transgression of this general order is punishable by death.

On stardate 4203.11, the 21st Strike Squadron, consisting of the Detroyat-class destroyers USS _Jezer_, USS _Laffer_, and the USS _Long Beach, _were on routine patrol near Rahli V when all communications with the squadron was mysteriously lost. Due to their proximity to the Romulan neutral zone, foul play has not been ruled out as a possibility for their disappearance. Starfleet Intelligence is continuing the search for the missing vessels, and any such sighting should immediately be transmitted on a priority one channel to the nearest starbase or military operations command center.

The Commanding Officer of Starfleet Research and Design, on behalf of the Commander in Chief of Starfleet Command, wishes to congratulate the commanders and crews of the medium cruiser USS _South Dakota_, the light cruisers USS _Perseus_ and USS _Luxor_, and the destroyer USS _Duluth_. Outfitted with the new phased weaponry prototypes, these fine vessels have served with distinction and have furthered the fighting capabilities of Starfleet Command. More news on their exploits and performance reviews will be forthcoming.

The Prentares Council of Elders has issued the following decoration: The Prentares Ribbon. This stylized badge is characterized by the Prantarian lamb surrounded by a green wreath, with the inscription "High Protector" below. It is awarded to military personnel or civilians who have saved the life of a U.F.P. civilian through peaceful means. The first recipient of this award is Doctor Mendar R. Tolfosian of the planet Thasus IV. Doctor Tolfosian successfully quelled a brief uprising on Thasus, saving the lives of a dozen Federation scientists stationed on the planet for observational purposes. More information on this encounter can be found on the Federation data network.

The Confederation of Tellar has proposed the Grankite Order of Honor award. Issued by special order of the Commandant of Starfleet Academy to cadets who, during their tour of study at Starfleet Academy, demonstrate selfless heroism in support of the United Federation of Planets and Starfleet Command. It takes the form of a small red, blue, and gold triangle surrounded by Tellerite white laurel leaves. The decoration is named in honor of Grankess Lorr, the Tellerite cadet who is the first recipient.

The 10th planet to be official sold by the United Federation of planets to a civilian and/or corporation took place on Stardate 4204.21. The planet is now officially registered in the Federation Navigational Database (FEDNAVDAB) as Flint's World. As such, many worlds are discovered throughout the Federation that have little to no scientific or militaristic value to them. These planets are occasionally listed for sale and bids may be placed at the Office of Federation Colonial Operations closest to the aforementioned planet.

Several members worlds, most notably planets near the outer rim, have experienced delays in the subspace transfer of funds between their planets, especially when said planets are within close proximity to one another. The Federation Economic Council has sent out several communications to local financial institutions in the area, telling the regional bankers that such delays have become more commonplace as more and more subspace frequency bands are dedicated to active war fighting elements near contested space. Any Starfleet vessel or starbase commander, should they be confronted by a worried patron about the security of their respective funds, are advised to direct such individuals to their local Federation Economic delegation or to the nearest Federation Trade and Commerce office.

More information to follow shortly.

"* * * * *"

Stardate: 4205.09

May, 2254

Office of the Commanding Officer, Starbase 23, Commodore Ronald Jarvis, Arcanis Sector.

Commodore Jarvis rose in his chair to meet the officers now striding into his office. "Fleet Captain Blackwell," he began by offering the first officer through the door his hand, "congratulations on your recent promotion."

William reached out a slender hand and grasped at the commodores. "Thank you, sir. It came as a bit of a shock to me."

"Yes, I'm sure it did. However, I'm not a bit surprised, if I do say so myself. Your record, both before and during this conflict, has been exemplary."

William smiled broadly. "It's that way only because I have the pleasure of serving with the best people in the fleet, Commodore."

"You're modesty precedes you, Fleet Captain." Commodore Jarvis turned to the other three men who'd entered the office on the heels of Captain Blackwell. "And speaking of serving in good company, it's a pleasure to see you gentleman as well."

A round of thanks came from Captain's Litho, Richter, and Batise. William looked at his core group of captains, the commanders of the three battle squadrons—the 50th, 52nd, and the 53rd—that made up the nucleus of Blackwell's new command, the 21st Battle Force, and he smiled on them with pride. They were some of the best starship captains in the fleet, and William was glad to have them at his side for the coming engagement.

The Andorian Captain Litho had made something of a name for himself during the Battle of Lasur Funop, singlehandedly disabling two Klingon cruisers and destroying a destroyer, and all from a lowly destroyer that Starfleet command had recently called 'dangerously obsolete.' Afterwards, Starfleet Command was quick to offer him the field promotion to Captain and assign him to a new light cruiser bearing the same name as his recently decommission ship, the USS _Thomas Gauge_.

Captain Richter, a tested veteran of the Battle of Ogolo, was now in command of the fleet carrier USS _Kalinin Bay_. During that battle he'd served as the fighter wing commander, successfully coordinating the attack of dozens of fighters as aggressors against multiple targets. His efforts not only led to the destruction of a number of enemy starships, he'd also managed to use the carrier's own formidable weaponry to save three smaller destroyers that were swarmed upon by much more heavily armed opponents.

Finally there was Captain Philippe Bêtise. Bêtise had assumed command of the often spoken about USS _Pinafore_ when her commanding officer suffered a severe mental breakdown. The _Pinafore_ had been reported missing on stardate 4104.01 and then mysteriously re-appeared nearly three weeks later with her internal chronometers exactly nineteen days behind the nearest starbase. The crew had been unable to explain this discrepancy, stating that the passage of time—for them, at least—felt perfectly normal. The entire crew had been rotated off the ship for psychological examinations. As it was, only Captain Arthur Mason had suffered any ill effects. The crew was then reassigned to the ship and command was turned over to the executive officer, Commander Bêtise, with the added bonus of a promotion to seal his new title. After several successful hit-and-run attacks against Klingon forces in the Muraski sector, he was ordered to rush the _Pinafore_ back to the frontlines, which he did in record time, linking up with the rest of the 21st Battle Force only just that morning.

Now, with all the key commanders present, Commodore Jarvis got right down to business. He ordered his yeoman to dim the lights and engage the large view screen that hung on the far wall in his officer. As an image of the sector came into view, he rose from his chair and highlighted an area to the left of the Arcanis sector. "Gentleman, as you know, this is the Genmark sector, our neighbors to the east. AS you can also see, it's nearly ninety percent controlled by the Klingon's. Starfleet Intelligence has been sending me regular reports on the enemy's movements in that sector, and they feel that now is the time to begin a full scale invasion to retake our space."

There was a brief pause in the commodore's report, and the French Captain Bêtise took the opportunity to interject. "You are saying, then, that we will be the first of many waves?"

"That's correct, Captain." He looked to the young woman at the far side of the briefing room. "Next slide, please." A magnified image of the Genmark sector came into view. The region was mostly devoid of planetary systems, save for Keese and Luclyd. There were a few stray gas giants and several small asteroid fields, but nothing of major importance. Separating the Genmark sector for the Arcanis was a misshapen red line—the boundary of Klingon expansion thus far into this part of the Alpha Quadrant. On the far side of the sector, closest to Arcanis, a series of three small, blue triangles appeared and began to flash in unison. "These symbols represent the three tiers of the 21st Battle Force," he began. The assembled officers watched as the triangles slid from the Federation side to the Klingon controlled space, dragging with them the red line and, thus, shrinking Klingon controlled space. The movement of the triangles stopped at Genmark, near the center of the sector. "We want the 21st to get into the sector, do as much damage as possible along the way, and take out the Klingon garrison on Genmark. Once you've secured the planet, I'll send in the 23rd Battle Force to back you up."

Captain Richter, his gray eyes thinning like the wisps of brown hair the cropped his head, addressed the commodore. "Who's in command of the 23rd, sir?"

"Fleet Captain Derik Marvin."

"Umm," Captain Litho grunted, the antennas on the crown of his head twitching slightly as he nodded, gave his approval. "Good man, Captain Marvin." The other captains, including Commodore Jarvis, turned to the normally silent Andorian. It was nearly unheard of for an Andorian to offer praise to anyone outside of their own race, let alone a human one at that. Litho merely looked to each of them quickly and smiled a brilliantly white set of teeth. "For a human, that is."

William, as well as the other men, couldn't help but smile in return. He was glad to have someone with such an impeccable record there to back the 21st up. "What kind of resistance should we be looking at once we penetrate the sector, Commodore?"

"Intelligence reports show that there's a bustle of enemy activity in the adjacent sectors, so we can infer that Genmark should be no different."

Captain Richter leaned forward onto his elbows. "That's not exactly a precise number."

"And I have none," Jarvis replied with regret as he looked to each of their concerned faces. "I wish I did. I know what you're thinking, and I share your concern. I don't like the thought of you going in there blindly, William, but we don't have a choice. Starfleet Intelligence wants to start carving away at the Klingon's grasp of our territory, and your group will form the first wedge of that push. You've got the best mix of ships in the fleet: cruisers, carriers, destroyers, and frigates of nearly every make and model."

"You've also got the best people," Litho added with pride.

Bêtise shot Litho a sideways glace and chuckled. "You're just saying that because most of the personnel under your command are Andorians."

"Is that a problem, Philippe?"

"No, mon Capitan," Bêtise said, then bowed his head softly, "just an astute observation."

"I speak for all my people, Captain Bêtise. I would die for each of them."

_Spoken like a true Andorian_, William mused. _Yes, these were fine officers_.

Commodore Jarvis looked to William. "How soon can you be underway, Fleet Captain Blackwell?"

"We're taking in the last of our supplies from the starbase now. The cruisers, carrier, and frigates are ready to move. Once the destroyers rotate in for weapons and organic transfers, we'll be ready to get underway. I'd say we could depart Starbase 23 in less than five hours."

Jarvis smiled broadly. "Then I won't keep you a minute longer." Once he stood up the rest of the assembled captains did the same. "Get your battle force ready to move and notify me as soon as you're prepared. Dismissed."

"* * * * *"

"Captain on the bridge!"

On the bridge of the _Bonhomme Richards_, Commander Karl Hibbard slipped out of the command chair Fleet Captain William Blackwell exited the turbolift.

William strode confidently onto the bridge and took the center seat from his first officer. "Mr. Caplin, position report."

The bronze skinned helmsman turned in his chair to face the captain. "Approximately five light years from Starbase 23, sir."

"On the edge of the Arcanis sector, then?"

"Yes, sir. We'll cross into Genmark sector in T-minus five minutes and thirty seconds at present speed."

William turned to his first officer, who had resumed his post at the science station. "Sensor report, Mr. Hibbard."

"Nothing unusual to report at this time."

Blackwell pushed the control on his chair that kinked his personal intercom with engineering. "Engineering, this is the captain. Report, Mr. Ethridge."

The normally jolly engineer came back within seconds. "Engines are running at peak efficiency, sir. Full power is at your disposal."

A bemused smile crept across William's face. "You've, ah, fixed that minor power fluctuation then, I assume?"

"Yes, sir." Ethridge replied with a hint of jolliness to his words. "It won't be bothering you again."

"That's good to know. But please, the next time the hot water is inadvertently shut off to my quarters, I'd like to know _before_ I jump in the shower."

Ethridge chuckled softly. "Aye, sir. I'll keep you posted."

"Thank you." William shut of the channel and looked to the navigator. "Weapons status, Lieutenant Morrow."

The dark skinned, smooth voiced lieutenant Aaron Morrow craned his neck around to the captain. "All weapons are on standby, sir. Accelerator cannons are primed and charged; laser battery crews are at the ready. We can have weapons at your disposal within five seconds of your command, sir."

"Excellent work, Lieutenant," William said formally, then stepped from his chair and placed a kind hand on Morrow's shoulder. "And here you had doubts as to whether you'd be a satisfactory department head."

The lieutenant smiled broadly. "Well, I did have a few reservations, but I wouldn't say I had doubts, sir."

"Keep it up, Aaron. Someday maybe you'll be the one ordering the fleet around."

"One can always dream, sir."

"Well said. Mr. Caplin, maintain course and speed. Science station, I want a continuous full scan of the area; wide beam, full dispersal."

Nothing had come of the 21st Battle Force foray into the Genmark sector for the first hour and a half of their penetration mission. Due to the proliferation of Klingon forces in nearby sectors, this came as something of a minor shock to William and the rest of his commanders. If the Klingons were as serious about protecting this area as they'd been when they'd pilfered it nearly two years ago, he should have been detected by now. If the 21st had been detected, then what were the Klingons waiting for? And, if Blackwell had managed to come in under their noses, then where the devil were they?

As William was about to have the science officer tighten his sensor beams, Hibbard spoke up from his station. "Sir, I have multiple contacts on the long-range sensors. Bearing two-two-five, mark three-one-eight."

William caught his breath in anticipation. "Specifications, Commander? Are they warships?"

Karl tightened the sensors beam just enough to get the captain the information William wanted without alerting the Klingons to their probing. "I'm reading twelve large vessels and three smaller ones, all moving in a relatively leisurely manner away from this sector and deeper into Klingon held territory."

"Assault transports?"

"Negative, sir. Lifesign readings of the largest vessels suggest they're cargo transports. I'm also reading three D-10 heavy cruisers and four D-16 destroyers."

William leaned forward in his chair as the revelation took hold. "A supply convoy?"

Commander Hibbard turned his head to his friend and nodded. "It looks that way, sir, and it's a big one. They could be hauling up to a million metric tons of supplies in those things"

Blackwell licked his lips in anticipation. "Any other contacts in the area?"

"No, sir. No other vessels within a parsec of our current position."

"Then we'll need to act quickly," he said with a smile. "Communications officer, send coded messages to Captains Batise, Litho, and Richter. I'm sure they already have the enemy vessels on their monitors. Advise them that the 21st Battle Force will commence attack in five minutes, and they may choose targets at their own discretion. Then send a coded message to the command cruiser _Sheridan_. Instruct Captain Damrow to keep the entire area under surveillance during the attack. I don't want to get caught with our britches down."

"Aye, sir."

Just as Fleet Captain Blackwell had ordered, the nineteen ships of the 21st Battle Force struck quickly at the nearly helpless Klingon convoy. Their first order of business was to disable the three D-10 battle cruisers, by far the deadliest ships in the Klingon's arsenal. Taking out the destroyers was considered a secondary objective, but if the opportunity presented itself, they were not to be denied laser of photon torpedo fire. The Starfleet vessels were ordered in at flank speed in an attempt to surprise the enemy.

Captain Richter, onboard the _Santee_-class fleet carrier _Kalinin_ _Bay_, had been tasked with destroying the first battle cruiser that came into range. The enemy convoy was in a staggered line formation, with a heavy cruiser on each side for protection. The D-10 that Richter had singled out was hovering just above the convoy at one thousand kilometers. The Klingon vessel, being the lumbering beast it was, couldn't pivot fast enough to engage the oncoming Federation attackers head-to-head. As the freighters below it tried to scurry away like cockroaches under a bright light, the D-10 was pummeled by laser fire from nearly three thousand kilometers.

Due to the extreme range of the Federation craft, the first salvos were relatively ineffective. The Klingon's shields were drained, but the craft remained undamaged. By the time Richter had three cruisers in range to fire with their accelerator cannons, the D-10 had completed its turn and brought its weapons to bear on the Federation forces. The all cruiser 190th Strike Squadron scattered as disruptor beams lanced out, missing each one entirely. They quickly regrouped, each firing over thirty rounds of concentrated cannon fire into the lone Klingon warship. Its shields failed quickly as it tried in vain to exact damage of its own. Large sections of the unprotected hull blew apart under the onslaught, and within minutes the cruiser was no more.

In a similar fashion, Captain Batise had taken the six starships of the 54th Battle Squadron and disabled another Klingon cruiser, its warp engines now smashed beyond the capability to generate power.

Captain Litho, not one to be left out a good fight, brought the _Thomas Gauge_ and the rest of the 50th's weapons to bear on the remaining Klingon battlewagon. Knowing that his seven starships were more than a match for the lone D-10, he sub-divided his forces, ordering three medium cruisers to engage the Klingon battle cruiser while earmarking his four destroyers to take out "all targets of opportunity."

While Litho and his three cruiser escorts pounded the D-10 into submission, two destroyers from Captain Darrow's squadron—as well as the two destroyers from William Blackwell's squadron—fired at anything that didn't have a Federation recognition signature. Freighters and destroyers alike were targeted, and each received their due attention.

Fleet Captain Blackwell, assisting his fleet the best he could, slalomed the _Bonhomme Richards_ through the Klingon and Federation vessels, weaving through the battle ground as if he were a needled mending a garment. Never once expending more than two shots on a single target, Lieutenant Aaron Morrow's laser fire was spot on each time.

Once the major combatants had been destroyed or disabled, Blackwell had ordered the 21st Battle Force to regroup and engage the freighters. When he was queried by his commanders whether they should be commandeering any of the supplies in the Klingon convoy, William had asserted his orders from Starfleet Command. "Destroy all targets of opportunity while maintaining the safety of your crews and your ships. No exceptions."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Stardate: 4206.13

June, 2254

Imperial Klingon Repair facility, Pantor system.

His quarters were blissfully cold, so much so that the sight of his breath escaping past his lips was barley perceptible. Unusual for a Klingon to admire such inhospitable surroundings, Supreme Fleet Commander Admiral Kamato longed for it, embracing it as if it were his destiny to do so. Since he'd assumed command of the 5th Expeditionary Force after the untimely death of Admiral Klag, he found that solitude was more of an ally than a foe, and that the cold blackness of space was the only constant in the universe. He had all but extinguished every trace of light in his small cabin, allowing the vista beyond the single, large viewport to illuminate the austere space. He'd placed his large, overstuffed chair—the only luxury he allowed himself in his cabin—near the two meter tall viewport, allowing him an unobstructed view of the scene unfolding around his imperial battle cruiser, the _Fang_.

Beyond the confines of his battle cruiser, dozens of vessels representing nearly as many classes were being outfitted or repaired in the space high above the swamp-like planet of Pantor V. Orbital dry docks, over two dozen of them, were scattered about like children's toys, no one on the same plane or positioned with the same orientation as another. Each rectangular lattice was large enough for a battle cruiser, or several well parked destroyers. Small repair craft, personnel shuttles, and cargo tugs swarmed around each dock and in between them, giving Kamato the impression he was living inside a veritable hornets nest.

He watched as a D-7 slide out from its berthing a few kilometers away. The graceful, powerful cruiser, with its impulse engines glowing an angry red, moved gracefully out of the imposing dock structure, only to be replaced by an identical cruiser a moment later. This newcomer, with dark lines streaked across the upper portions of its hull, was missing its port warp nacelle. The bridge pod, jutting out from the secondary hull, seemed to have taken a blow as well, with a large portion of the starboard bridge wing collapsed and the internal lights in that portion completely extinguished.

Opposite of the damaged D-7, a battle cruiser—not unlike Kamato's own D-10—was moving into position outboard of an already occupied dock. Despite the fact that this class was less than a year old, the vessel gave the appearance of one that had seen many years of deep space service. The once pristine light grey hull was lightly pitted and scared with a hastily repaired patchwork of panels. The starboard-forward disruptor cannon, and the forward ten meters of the surrounding superstructure, was smashed and bent inwards—no doubt the result of a collision of some type. Kamato watched as the intensity of the main impulse engines fluttered-a sure sign of internal power fluctuations in the vessel. As it came to a slow halt, his attention was turned to the planet below.

Pantor V had been one of the first conquests of the Klingon Empire when they began their push into Federation space over two years before. Situated eighteen light-years from the Klingon military stronghold at Ruwan, and half as far to the former Klingon-Federation neutral zone, it was deemed the idea place to construct the IKS repair yards. The planet itself was little more than a featureless wasteland of sand and rock. Two small oceans, rich in sodium and pyrite and layered in a thick, red algae marred the otherwise smooth appearance from high orbit. The survey team of scientists, sent down by the Klingon fleet that had originally secured the planet, had found little in the way of remarkable geology, other than a very small percentage of dilithium and precious gems that were buried too far beneath the surface to make an attempt at excavation profitable. Admiral Kamato watched as clumps of beige and white clouds hovered near the planet's surface, casting harsh shadows on the sand dunes and rocky outcroppings below.

There was a rattle at his side, the sound of metal reverberating against a loose panel, and he knew at once his precious air conditioning had once again shut down. The small unit, not normally designed to keep such a low temperature for so long, was on the verge of dying altogether. The _Fang_'s chief engineer had promised the admiral that, as soon as a suitable replacement could be found, the small unit would be replaced. Kamato rose from his chair and gave the small unit a kick with his heavy boot, causing the compressor to momentarily whine and pop back to life. Soon he could once again feel the cool breeze blow past his face.

He took the moment to look to the desktop chronometer and, seeing that his period of relaxation was nearing its end, he decided to turn his attentions to the daily reports. Flipping on his computer, he ran a preprogrammed search query designed to fetch messages containing special words or strings of words. Due to the specific phrases of the messages, it'd been over a month since one had vied for his attention. Now, of the over three hundred messages he'd received in the last twelve hours, only three of them were returned by the search program. Whatever news they held, it was of the utmost importance. Kamato immediately took notice, and whatever calmness he'd acquired while meditating in his chamber quickly faded as he loaded the messages on the viewer.

The subterfuge with which the coded material was hidden inside the contents of an otherwise innocent looking dilithium consumption report was worthy of a Romulan. Kamato entered in the decryption cypher, then ran the message though half a dozen filters to coax the embedded text to life. The original message, once four screens long, was compressed into a single three sentence paragraph. The words were direct, and they message it contained was grave: Emperor Karhammur had lost the confidence of several key High Council members.

The implications of this were far reaching. Kamato, never one to read too far into a single message, deciphered the remaining two communiqués in an attempt to piece together the rest of the intended announcement. When the three pieces were translated and laid out before him, the Admiral's true mission was quite clear.

With the loss of several high ranking Klingon commanders in the war against the supposedly weaker Federation, not to mention the loss of the ships and personnel under their charge, the High Council was becoming weary of the Emperor's ability to successfully win the current campaign. What had started as a lofty goal of expansion and conquest for the empire was quickly turning into a catastrophe as defeat began piling up against the Klingons. The council was beginning to feel that new leadership would infuse the empire with what it needed most: victory.

And, per the communications he'd received from Internal Intelligence, it'd seemed they had already chosen their new leader. It would be Kamato himself.

While the thought of ruling the empire was tempting, one did not simply achieve the position by it being handed over to him. There would be a power struggle, if not an all out rebellion. Many Klingon's loyal to the current Emperor would need to be shuffled away from positions of influence, possibly silenced altogether. It also remained to be seen how much of the Imperial Fleet was still loyal to the current ruler, and how much would follow the admiral. And, without the aid of the fleet, Kamato's aspirations were only pipedreams.

There were several officers directly under his command that would follow Kamato to the gates of Sto'VoKor. Of that there was no question. What was in question, however, was the loyalty of several of his key officers onboard the _Fang_, namely the first officer and the security chief. The first officer, Captain Tanag, was both brave and ruthless; admirable qualities for a first officer and saboteur alike. While Kamato had never been given reason to question his loyalties before, the admiral was also well aware that Tanag's brother shared the ear of several members of the High Council, and that his closest cousin was the commander of the 11th Cruiser Assault Squadron—a formidable group of warriors. It would be well to keep Tanag on his side or, at the very least, in his pocket. Kamato decided to send a message back to his Intelligence operatives, requesting anything he could use against the Captain as leverage to secure his future loyalty.

The security chief, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. In most respects, it was a minor miracle that Lieutenant Colonel B'Tal had lasted as long as had in the empire, much less attained such an honorable rank. B'Tal was something of a conniving, fat little targ, commanding respect at from everyone at every turn. His security force—fiercely loyal to him—was made entirely of marine officers who had each proven themselves deadly in hand to hand combat. In fact, Kamato couldn't think of a single marine onboard who would not follow B'Tal if given the choice between the junior colonel and the admiral himself. After all, rank means very little when compared to glory. Unfortunately, B'Tal had made no qualms about aligning himself with the house of Maltok, a powerful line that had stood by the Emperor at every turn.

If Kamato wished to rise to the throne, he would not be able to do it without raising the suspicions of B'Tal, nor could he simply kill the man without likewise revealing his ambitions. Perhaps it was best, Kamato pondered, to extricate himself from the situation and move his operations closer to the home world. Surely he had earned enough accolades for himself in the current push into Federation space. He must have, for there was no other reason the council would be asking him to assume its leadership. Besides, Admiral Kamato was under the distinct impression that Captain Tanag had his eyes set on the Admiral's command chair. Surely, Tanag would need to play a deadly game for that plan to come to fruition, but there was also the high probability that B'Tal would join in the coup. In that event, the odds were in favor of the Admiral succumbing to a highly questionable "accident", just as his own predecessor, Admiral Klag, had done.

"No, that would simply not do." Kamato's deep voice emanated from his throat as he spoke to the empty room. _There were preparations to be made, but things must proceed slowly. No suspicions must be raised until the time of my own choosing._ He looked beyond the large viewport once more to the fleet he'd commanded to so many victories. A leaders place is with his warriors, and he would miss the glory of their battles together. But, now was not the time for regrets. Now was the time he must return to his home soil and reclaim the faith that the people had lost in their present leader. Now was the time to remake their name, and let the universe know what it truly meant to be Klingon.

He inhaled deeply with satisfaction in his heritage, his massive chest bulging out, his uniform straining to hold in its bulk. He nodded proudly to the ships of his fleet, the best salute that a leader could offer his men, resolute over his next move. He turned briskly, the long folds of his blood red cape twirling behind him as he made his way to the commpanel on the starboard bulkhead.

"Captain Tanag," Kamato said in his most commanding voice over the ship wide intercom. "Report to my cabin immediately."

Less than a minute later Tanag was standing inside the admiral's doorway. _Tanag must have been nearby, waiting for some opportunity to strike against me. I have not underestimated your treachery, Captain._

"My Lord," Tanag said with a sharp salute. "You wished to see me?"

Kamato strode quickly to stare down Tanag, which was easily done, considering the quarter meter height difference between the two men. They were nearly toe-to-toe when Kamato produced a computer reader he'd been holding behind his back.

"Orders, sir?" Tanag asked with confusion.

"Of the sort, _Captain_."

Tanag read over the brief message one, then twice more to be sure he'd gotten the message interpreted correctly. "You are leaving, sir?"

Kamato nodded slowly.

"Sir, I must say it has been an honor to serve with you. I will not—"

"'You may dismiss with that rubbish, Captain!" Kamato said, grabbing the captain by the breast of his heavy tunic and hauling him to his toes. "Do not toy with me, Tanag. We both know perfectly well that you are more interested in your promotion to the Admiralty than in my eminent departure."

The instant fear that laced Tanag's eyes was replaced by a loathsome calmness. He smiled widely, his razor sharp teeth inches from the Admiral's face. "To say nothing about earning the command of the entire fleet in the process, my lord."

Kamato sneered, pulling Tanag clear of his feet as the two locked eyes. His sneer slowly faded to a smile, which was augmented by the beginnings of a laugh. It rolled out slowly, becoming a full roar as he put Tanag back on his feet. Soon the two warriors were laughing heartily at one another as Kamato brought his heavy hands to the captain's shoulders. Kamato produced two large ales, handing one to Tanag, then the two slammed their drinks together in a typical Klingon salute.

"Well done, _Admiral_ Tanag!" Kamato howled, then gulped down the thick drink.

"Thank you, sir."

"I know you will make me proud in your efforts against the weakling Earthers."

Tanag downed his drink. "I will make them tremble in the bed clothes that they call uniforms!"

Kamato sneered again. "See that you do, Admiral. See that you do."

"And what of you, sir?"

"I will travel back to the home world. The council has requested that I give them a first had update of our victories and our losses. I must account for the deeds of my men."

"And, your rank?"

"I have been promoted to Thought Admiral, effective immediately."

Tanag's expression of joy faded. In the entirety of his career in the IKS, no one had ever achieved such a high rank. Kamato was now considered a master tactician, skilled beyond all others in the Klingon Empire. His exploits would now be sung in songs, and his tales told to all would-be warriors in the Empire. His status of legend was assured. Tanag bowed his head deeply in respect. "I am honored to be in your presence."

"Enough of all that, Admiral," Kamato said, hefting Tanag back to an upright position. "We have much to do, but first, we must inform the fleet of the change."

"There will be much rejoicing in the fleet tonight, my lord!"

Kamato couldn't help but sneer lewdly at Tanag. "Yes. Yes there shall." _And soon, very soon, there will be much more. _

"* * * * *"

Stardate: 4207.18

July, 2254

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," the captain said through labored breaths. "Whose idea was it to climb this mountain, anyways?"

The target of the captain's question, Lieutenant Commander Amanda DeSoto, took two further steps up the hill before turning around to respond. "Don't look at me, sir. I said this was a poor plan from the start."

As Captain Richard Joshtin took a final stride to stand next to his first officer, Lieutenant Franklin Jones, his red security tunic plastered to his back with sweat, grunted as he struggled up the last few steps of the thin, dusty trail. "I told you, the magnetic properties of the rocks in these mountains made transporter operations hazardous." There was a pause in his voice before he caught the lack of respect that his tone carried. "Sorry, sir."

Richard withdrew a silver water container from his backpack and took a healthy swig of the delicious, life giving liquid. "No pun intended, Lieutenant, but don't sweat it. This damn repressive heat has us all on edge." The captain then tossed the half empty bottle at the junior officer, who eagerly finished off its contents.

DeSoto found a comfortable rock to sit down on, her long, muscular legs stretched out before her. "You can say that again, skipper." She wiped a thick bead of perspiration from her forehead. "Who would want to live on a planet like this?"

"No one so far," the captain responded quickly. "That's why the Federation hasn't gotten around to colonizing it yet."

Jones squeezed the last of the water from the container, then tossed it into his own bag. "The Klingon's seem to like it."

"They can have it, too," Amanda sighed as she stretched her arms over her head. "God, what I wouldn't give for a nice cold sonic shower."

Captain Joshtin ran a hand through his dark, wet hair. "No, they can't have it. Unless they want to tug Webirty all the way back to Klingon space, they need to get the hell off of the Federation's property." He then shot a glace to his first officer. "And, if you'd like a long shower, my dear, then you'll have to help me finish this mission. The _Vindicator_ is up there waiting for our signal."

"You know, I love it when you take charge," she smiled at him.

"That's what the captain does."

"I recall you saying that on our wedding night."

"Oh, do you?" Richard said with bemused shock. "You're not considering mutiny, are you?"

She smiled broadly. "Will it get me thrown in the brig?"

He licked his lips, but not from dehydration. "It might."

Jones let out a cough from behind the two. "If you both don't mind, I'm going to go throw up now."

"What's the matter, Jones? Never heard a married couple spar with one another?"

"It's all in good fun," Amanda said, defending her husband's statement.

"Begging the captain's pardon, but it's not the route that your conversation is taking that's making me ill—although I must say I'd rather not be privy to your romantic quarrels. The fact is that this heat is really getting to my stomach, and I honestly think I'm about to loose my lunch."

Both the captain and Amanda began to agree as they noticed Lieutenant Jones's skin turn a mottled shade of green. Amanda quickly reached into her side pouch and withdrew a medical hypo, swiftly plunging it into the Lieutenant's forearm. The pink of his skin tone slowly returned to normal. "There," she said with best bedside manner. "All better?"

Jones absently rubbed his arm. "Yeah, for now."

"Good," Captain Joshtin said with a slap on the Lieutenants arm. "You know, Lieutenant, I never had a son."

"Oh, no. And now you're going to tell me that I'm the closest thing you'll ever get to having one, right?"

Richard let out a hearty laugh. "Far from it. In fact, seeing how squeamish you are under this heat, I was going to say I hope I have a whole brood of daughters."

"Richard!" his wife scolded him gently.

"That's 'Captain' or 'Sir' to you, my dear."

She withdrew another bottle of water and splashed some against his face. "Then it's going to be 'Lieutenant Commander DeSoto' to you, sir."

The captain sighed heavily as he looked to the two exhausted officers under his care. "Fine, fine. Sorry about that, Jones. No hard feelings."

"None taken, sir," the young man said with exhaustion.

"There," Richard said as he turned to his wife. "All better."

Amanda only rolled her eyes. "Why on Earth did I ever agree to marry you?"

"I don't know. In fact, I still don't know why you don't go by Joshtin instead of DeSoto."

"Having one Joshtin onboard is excitement enough for the crew, believe me."

Jones let out a chuckle before the captain could respond.

"Very funny, Amanda," the captain replied dryly. "'Well, we aren't going to get anything done just sitting around. The _Vindicator_'s sensors reported the Klingon camp was just over that rise before the solar flare hit." Richard pointed to the grouping of rocky outcropping about half a kilometer distant.

"How long is the flare supposed to last?" Jones asked.

"There's no telling," Amanda remarked. "It could be anywhere from an hour to a day. We're lucky to have communications with them."

Jones shrugged. "True, but without sensors we have no idea what we'll be facing when we get to the camp."

"That's why you're here, Lieutenant." Richard said as he grandly put his hands to his hips. "One lone security chief against a whole platoon of Klingon marines. Sounds exciting, doesn't it?"

"Sounds like suicide."

"You'll do fine, Jones. In fact, I think I can muster up Amanda's old cheerleading uniform from her academy days if you need the pep rally."

His wife shot him a doubtful look. "And you'll be the one wearing it, _Captain_."

Richard bowed his head slightly in her direction. "Par for the course, my dear. So, how about it, Jones? You feel well enough to continue?"

The security chief stood up and stretched his arms before him. "Yes, sir. I think so. That hypo is really kicking in now."

"Good. Then let's get moving. We've only got a few more hours of daylight left, and with the tricorders not working, we're going to need as much visual information as we can gather."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The trio of Starfleet officers—Captain Joshtin, Commander DeSoto, and the young Lieutenant Jones—crested what they hoped was their final hill. With their water supply now running dangerously low, they needed to find the Klingon stronghold—and fast. The captain's normally jovial countenance had faded under the blazing heat of the twin suns high above Webirty, becoming less humorous with each labored step up the final mountain side. When he finally reached the top, with his two companions close behind, he nearly collapsed out of sheer exhaustion and dehydration.

His eyes scanned as far as the horizon. There was nothing but more mountains.

"The _Vindicator_'s scanners must have been mistaken. There's nothing around here but more accursed mountains."

Amanda's dark brown eyes locked on her husbands form. "I'm not sure if I'm sorry about that or not."

"Menaing what?" Lieutenant Jones asked.

"Meaning if there are no Klingon's around, we can contact the ship without fear the signal will be intercepted."

Captain Joshtin couldn't agree more. Besides, it was high time the landing party discovered if that annoying radiation storm had passed by the ship by now. He reached behind his back, his hand snaking it's way under the sticky hem of his uniform tunic, and he withdrew the translucent communicator. As his eyes continued to scan the horizon, he was about to flip the device open when the reflection off a distant object caught the captain's attention.

Jones caught the captain narrowing his eyes at something in the valley below. "What is it, Captain?"

Richard shook his head slowly. "I'm not entirely sure."

Amanda crouched down next to her husband, the same light reflecting into her eyes in the process. "Whatever it is, it's man made."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I read the geological report on this Webirty before we beamed down. There are no natural reflective materials on the entire planet."

"Know it all," the captain said as he nudged his wife with his knee. "How much water do we have left?"

"About three liters," Jones replied after he checked their inventory.

"Alright, then. One liter each. Make it last, boys and girls. If those are Klingon's down there, we're not going to be able to waltz right in and ask them to use their drinking fountain."

Amanda smiled to herself, then looked up to her husband. "Why not?"

"* * * * *"

Amanda rushed to the imposingly large door and began beating in ot with her fists, screaming at the top of her lungs. "Help! Help! Please, if anyone is in there, I need help!"

After severl tense moments of silnce the doors began to part. In an instant, four Klingon guards rushed out and surrounded Amanda.

"Oh, thank God there's someone in there," she said as her eyes moved from one Klingon to the next until they fell on the one with the highest ranking lapel pin on. Her front of her uniform, strategically ripped to reveal enough of her anatomy to give the Klingon's a good enough show, was partially bunched up and held up to her chest. "Thank the merciful Gods of the Universe, the Ocean, and all that dwell on the land," she continued as she approached the officer. As she neared him she fell to her feet and reached out for his shiny boot, caressing it as a child would hold a treasured stuffed animal. "You are my saviors!"

"What is it?" she heard one of the Klingon's ask.

"It looks like an Earther female," another said.

"She sounds as if she's gone mad," came from another.

"Mad? No… at least, I don't think so," she said, still groveling at the feet of the ranking officer. "What I am is thankful, thankful you're here to rescue me."

"Rescue you from what?" the leader spat. "There is nothing for you to fear here, except for us." He reached down and clamped his hands around her shoulders, then hauled her to her feet.

"Oh, no," she said wide-eyed. "I don't fear you as much as I do that lunatic out there." She inclined her head over her shoulder.

"Lunatic?" the leader asked back in confusion.

"Yes, a Starfleet officer. He's insane. Off his rocker. A few cycles short of a full impulse term, if you catch my drift."

"Starfleet? Here?" she heard the murmurs from the Klingon's behind her.

"You have seen this _human_, have you?"

"Of course I have, you idiot. He was almost upon me when I came across your camp. He's been following me for days, asking me for water, food, magazines, chewing gum. He even offered me a rock, trying to convince me it was a cheeseburger. A few hours ago he caught up to me and tried to rape me, doing this to my uniform. He's a complete nut job. I'm scared for my life."

The leader looked her over, noting for the first time her Starfleet insignia. "And you are Starfleet as well?"

"I was, but I'm through with that bunch of cowards and saboteurs. They fight like… like… well, they are just a bunch of silly wet pants balloon chasers."

"Wet pants balloon chasers? I have no idea what that means."

"Oh, it's the worst insult one human can give another human, I assure you. It's very bad."

"Then you will not mind telling me the Federations plans in this sector?"

"Oh, of course not. I'll tell you their plans, draw you maps, give you communications protocols, and I'll even throw in my grandmother's chocolate-chip cookie recipe. Just send you men and kill that Federation officer!"

The leader gave her a disapproving look, and then nodded slowly. "I've heard storied of the barbarities of Earth men. That they should stoop so low as to rape their own women is sickening. This man has no honor, and he'll be dealt with." He nodded to his three officers, telling them without words to carry out the assignment of tracking down and killing this human.

"You're not going to send more men out to kill him?" she asked, pushing out a stream of very convincing tears. The dress of her uniform, ripped at just the right angle, was showing more leg than a cabaret show on Rigel VII.

"You needn't worry," he said with compassion, offering her a coarse hand. "They will take care of this Starfleet officer. Besides, we are short staffed here. Allow me to take you inside and get you something to eat. We have much to… _discuss_."

Amanda brushed back her tears and grinned from ear to ear. "Oh, thank the Gods of Catfish and Riverbeds. You are so very kind."

"I am Major Tren," he said. "And you are?"

"Um, Amanda," she said as she offered a ridiculous bow.

"Yes, Amanda. Of course. You have… many strange gods that you worship. Catfish and Riverbeds?"

She almost burst out laughing at hearing the words repeating back to her. It was easily the most obscured line of gibberish she'd ever spouted. To see that it was working was nothing short of a miracle. She slowly intertwined her arm with his. "My dear, Tren. I will tell you all about it over a glass of ale."

"My thoughts exactly,"' he sneered.

"* * * * *"

Captain Joshtin watched from above as the three Klingon sentries cautiously rounded a series of large boulders. Choosing his location wisely, he knew that the Klingon's would have to come down this narrow path as they searched for the captain. He'd scaled a series of rocks, finally coming to rest above the Klingon's point of entry into the craggy maze. With Lieutenant Jones at a point directly opposite of his own, all the Starfleet officers had to do was sit and wait.

It hadn't taken long for the Klingon's to come. Richard could see their dark eyes searching for him. The Klingon's were walking slowly, careful not to disturb any of the underbrush while they stalked their prey. Richard watched as Franklin Jones got up on his haunches and took aim at the leader of the pack. When the Lieutenant looked to his captain for an order to fire, Joshtin gave him a signal to hold fire for a few moments longer. As the Klingon's came into a clearing, the captain gave Jones the signal, and the two officers laid down a blanket of laser fire. Set on stun, the three Klingon's collapsed in a heaped pile in seconds.

After disarming and tying up their unconscious prisoners, the two officers quickly made their way back to the Klingon compound in search of Amanda. The slowed as they neared the imposingly large entrance door.

"What do we do now, sir?"

"I'm not sure," Richard said as he scanned the doorway and the surrounding material. It looked hastily erected, and he doubted it would take long to crack it open with a few well placed laser shots.

Jones pointed his laser at the door. "I could slice a hole through it?"

"No, that might endanger Amanda. We don't know what—" his words were cut off by the sound of the heavy door being unlatched from within. "Quick. Take cover!" The two men dashed behind the most suitable rocks they could find. It wasn't until Richard noticed that it was Amanda opening the door did he relax his guard.

"Do you plan on playing outside all day," she asked in her most motherly tone. "Dinner is ready, and it's time to come inside."

Richard placed his pistol back into its holster as he neared his wife. "What happened to your friend?"

She smiled playfully. "I'm afraid the good Major can't seem to hold his liquor."

"How many more of them are there?" Jones asked, his eyes scanning the inside of the compound as the trio made its way through the door.

"I don't know, but there can't be that many. I haven't seen a single person walking around here since I stunned Tren."

"So, either we've disabled them all, or there's an entire garrison of men eating their lunch in the galley."

"We could check out every building." Amanda said, still trying to hold up the tattered remains of her uniform.

"That'd take too much time," the captain replied as his eyes scanned each of the buildings around them. "All we need to do is get to the computer center. It'll house the mainframe and the subspace transmitter array. I don't suppose you're friend provided you with a map of this place?"

Amanda shook her head. He looked to his wife, and the dangerous amount of skin her tattered uniform betrayed, and desperately wanted to cover her with something. While she didn't seem all that concerned with modesty at this point, he didn't want to give Lieutenant Jones more of a show that he'd already gotten. After all, some things were for the captain's eyes only. Besides, they need to get out of the open. Decided that one building looked just as good as the next, Richard selected one near the center of the small fortress and motioned his officers inside.

"* * * * *"

Much to everyone's delight, the room they'd entered was vacant. Captain Joshtin's first impression was that they were in some sort of laboratory. There were two rows of long, silvery tables with various rocks and soil samples strew about them with little organization. Most of the larger boulders, about the size of watermelons, had been cracked neatly in half, displaying their beautiful multicolored crystalline cores. There were various instruments it the space as well, and Amanda's was quick to point out that the nature of the laboratory was entirely geological in nature.

Lieutenant Jones reached out for a palm size chunk of rust-red rock and examined the deep purple crystal at its core. "It looks like a geode. My dad had a few of these laying around the house when I was a kid."

Richard looked to his science officer for a more accurate description. Amanda picked up the other half of the globular stone and held it closely to her eyes. "I'll bet your father never had ones like these," she said with veiled wonder.

Richard walked up behind his wife, carful not to disturb her while she studies the stone. "What do you mean?"

"These are dilithium nodules."

"Dilithium nodules?" Jones asked in disbelief. "Never heard of it."

"That's because they are extremely rare, Lieutenant. Normally, on a dilithium rich planet, you only need to burrow down about a hundred meters or so and you'll strike a good vein. These nodules, however, are formed far deeper."

"How much deeper?" The captain asked, captivated at the geological find.

"Several kilometers, at the very least. Even then you're not guaranteed to find them. Of the hundred or so mining operations going on inside the Federation's borders, I've only heard of nodules being discovered on three planets, and they never reported finding ones of such large sizes."

"What's the significance of a nodule over regular dilithium?"

"The crystal are far more pure, meaning they have less inclusions."

"Inclusions?" Jones asked, holding the rock close to his eyes.

"Internal flaws," she smiled. "Crystals like these would greatly improve the performance of the standard warp engine. But, as I said, no one has ever found ones so large. And, as you know, you can't just glue a bunch of small ones together. The Klingon's have stumbled onto something really rare here."

This mission had suddenly become more tenuous. "Do you think the Klingon's are aware of that fact?" Richard asked.

Amanda's eyes scanned around the lab once more. "It's hard to say. With this equipment, it's possible, but only by a highly trained geologist. My guess is they probably sent samples back to another location to get properly tested, possibly even to an off world lab."

"Which is why there aren't battle cruisers in orbit right now defending this tiny outpost." Richard said as his mind whirled with this new information.

"And all the more reason for us to get back to the Vindicator as soon as possible," Amanda replied.

"Agreed. Jones, this is probably the most sophisticated lab they have in the area. There had to be a computer tie in somewhere. See if you can tap in a download the data with your new little toy." He flipped open his communicator. "Joshtin to _Vindicator_."

"Vindicator, Lieutenant Commander James." It was the deep voice of the chief engineer.

"Mr. James, has that magnetic storm fully passed the ship yet?"

"Yes, sir. About thirty minutes ago. I'm glad you called in, skipper. We were starting to get a little worried."

"That's very sweet, Nathan," Amanda said loud enough for the engineer to hear as she continued to examine her rock.

"Commander James, stand by to bring us up on my next signal."

"Aye, sir. Transporters are locked onto your signal and standing by."

"And, if you wouldn't mind, could you make sure to bring down a utility jacket for Commander DeSoto. She's seems to have developed a slight uniform malfunction."

Nathanial James chucked softly over the channel. "Yes, sir. I'll see to it."

The 'new toy' that the captain had referred to earlier was a new high speed data transfer device, designed and built by an fleet engineer who was currently dismantling and rebuilding Klingon technology far from the frontlines of the war. Coded to the same modulation as the Klingon's computer. You simply had to plug the device into the computer port and switch it on. Within minutes you'd have access to most of the ships basic information. However, if you were to hook three of the small devices in parallel, you could easily download the entire ships library.

Jones reached into his pack, withdrawing the only two transfer devices he had, and snapped them together. A moment later he found the computer port. He plugged the device in and swithed on the only button on the device. A small light on it's base rapidly flashed from green to red, showing that a data transfer was in progress. "Downloading data now, Captain."

"Very well. You have three minutes to get whatever data you can, then we're going home."

"Mind if I bring a few souvenirs?" Amanda asked kindly.

"And I thought you hated this vacation?" he smiled broadly. "Now you want to bring back memento of your time here?"

"Very funny."

"* * * * *"

No sooner had the trio beamed back aboard the _Vindicator_ when the red alert klaxon began to sound throughout the ship. Captain Joshtin, disregarding the need for a shower and shave—not to mention changing into a clean uniform—went directly to the bridge. When Amanda attempted to follow, the captain pulled rank, telling her that she'd be welcomed back at her post only if she replaced the tattered set of rags she was calling a uniform.

When Joshtin set foot on the top deck of the light cruiser _Vindicator_, he knew he'd finally come home. He turned to the dark skinned communications officer, who was beaming at him from the science console. "Lieutenant Kilpatrick, report."

"Klingon squadron entering the system."

"Composition?"

"Three cruisers, three destroyers, sir."

"Where is the rest of the 63rd Battle Squadron?"

"The 26th Strike Squadron linked up with us an hour ago."

Richard nodded with approval. "That gives us two medium cruises and two heavy destroyers. Where are the rest of our forces? Where is the 65th Strike Squadron?"

"Commander King's frigates are on the far side of the Webirty III."

As the lieutenant had finished speaking, Lieutenant Commander DeSoto, once again dressed in a pristine uniform, strode confidently onto the bridge.

"DeSoto, relieve the Lieutenant at the science station and being up the tactical plot on the main view screen."

"Aye." She glided to her station and deftly entered the commands into the ships computer.

On the forward screen, the image of the plant Webirty faded and was replaced by a top-down tactical plot of the system. In the center, a small blip near the planet indicated the _Vindicator_'s current position, with Captain Bell's squadron forming a protective screen around them. At the edge of the system was a group of three red triangles—Klingon ships—heading in on an intercept course. Midway between the two forces was Webirty III, an icy rock hardly large enough to be classified a planet. On the far side of it was Commander King's trio of Loknar-class frigates.

"Have the Klingon's spotted King's forces yet?"

"I don't think so, sir," Amanda replied as she checked her sensors once more. "Indications are that the Klingon's are brining all their forces to bear on us."

"Communications, get me Commander King on a secure channel."

"He's standing by, sir."

The tactical image on the viewer was replaced by the visage of Commander Garrison King. ***BRIEF DECRIPTION***

"_Oriskany_ standing by, Captain."

Pushing all pleasantries aside for the time being, Captain Joshtin got down to business. "King, do you have those Klingon contacts on your sensors?"

"Affirmative, _Vindicator_. They seem to have their sights set on you. Do you need us to come in?"

"Not at the moment, no."

Garrison smirked. "Gonna take them all on by yourself, sir?"

Richard smiled back. "I hadn't planned on it. But, I do want you to slow your orbit."

"Slow down, sir?"

"That's right. Once the Klingon's are well passed Webirty II I want to kick in your impulse as full speed and come in behind them. Coordinate your sensor readings with ours. The longer you can delay your arrival at our position, the more time the Klingon's have to feel confident they'll win the engagement."

"And the less likely they'll be to disengage." King nodded.

"Exactly. I want to take out as many of those ships as we can."

"Understood. We're slowing our orbit now."

"We'll keep the Klingon's occupied until you arrive. _Vindicator_ out."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Stardate: 4208.17

August, 2254

"Onboard the USS _Oriskany_, Commander Garrison King executed a flawless rear flanking attack on the far more powerful Klingon cruiser squadron. With their rear quarter wholly unprotected, the _Oriskany_— along with the frigates _Ingrham_ and _Justice_—concentrated their combined firepower on a single D-7 cruiser, obliterating the vessel in seconds. The trio of _Loknar_ class frigates then split up, each taking aim at targets of opportunity.

First was a D-6 that had previously targeted by the medium cruiser USS Knell. Captain Edward Bell had managed to disable the destroyers warp drive, but the impulse systems were still fully intact, allowing the vessel to maintain full sub light maneuverability. However, the Klingon's reprieve was only temporary, as the _Justice_ once again showed her mettle by slicing long lines of laser fire into the Klingon's unprotected upper hull. The impulse drive module was holed through several times, and the lumbering Klingon destroyer became little more than a slow moving target for the Federation forces.

In the meantime, the Federation cruisers of the 26th Strike Squadron wasted little time in dispatching some destruction of their own. The _Anton_ class light cruisers _Frankfurt_ and _Purdy_ destroyed one D-7, while the light cruiser _Nicholas_ managed to immobilize a heavy cruiser on it's own. The Frankfurt then tuned, this time assisting the _Oriskany_ and the _Knell_, in eliminating the remainder of the Klingon destroyers.

This after action report, copied from the actual report filed to Starfleet Command is provided as a training aid to future cadets. It should be noted that these engagements are not the typical blah blah blah…" he finished with a roll of his eyes, then looked excitedly to 3rd year cadet Gary Mitchell. "Man, isn't that amazing?"

"You really like reading those reports don't you, Jim?" Mitchell said with a hint of boredom.

"I find them fascinating, that's all." Jim Kirk had no idea why he felt the need to defend his feelings on the matter, but brushed the sentiment aside for the moment. "It's important to know what we're going to face when we get out there permanently."

Mitchell threw his head back over the plush lounge chair and gaped to the ceiling. "We've already been out there, permanency not withstanding, and I have yet to even see a Klingon on the long range sensors, let alone fight one."

"The _Farragut_ isn't supposed to go near the combat zone while it's assigned to Training Command. You know that, Gary."

"Yeah, yeah," Mitchell groaned. "I just joined the fleet to have some fun, you know? Not, go on pointless training cruises… or lounge around here all day while you're out with your pretty blonde friend, little miss what's-her-name."

"Her name's Carol."

"You're really crazy about her, aren't you?"

Kirk smirked. "Let's just say I'm pretty partial to her company."

Gary picked his head up off the back of the chair, popping himself out in a fluid motion to land on one knee in front of Kirk. When Kirk didn't flinch Gary rested a soft hand near the Jim's leg. "You're not thinking of going soft on me, are you old pal?"

Jim cocked his head back in shock. "Soft? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, Jim. Poor old love-stuck-like-a-fool Jim. Girl's make you soft, man. They make you do things, things you don't want to do. They make you become things you don't ever want to be."

"Like honest?"

"Oh, and that's just for starters, old bean. Pretty soon you're pushing around a stroller full of a pair of twin baby Kirk's, complaining about your long hours sitting behind a desk while all she can do is talk about how bad her day was planting… _turnips_ or some such nonsense."

"Gee, you're not bitter about women at all, are you?"

"I'm just pointing out facts, Jim."

"Facts, huh? And I'm sure those facts stem from your profuse knowledge of the female psyche, right?"

"Of course they do. Didn't you know I was psychic?"

Kirk smiled wryly. "Well, if you're such a skilled mind reader, tell me what I'm thinking right now."

Gary flamboyantly waved his arms at his side, and then brought his index fingers to his temples. He closed his eyes and moaned softly. Jim watched as the lines in Mitchells forehead furrowed as the younger man feigned concentration. Suddenly Mitchell's eyes popped open and a devious smile played across his face. "You're thinking of the Kobiashi Maru, aren't you?"

Kirk tried to hide his surprise. It was, after all, exactly what he was thinking about. However, Gary also knew that Kirk had a re-test of the fateful simulator coming up the day after tomorrow. Kirk had made no attempts in the past week to hide the fact that the test was stressing him out, especially since he'd failed it twice already. Still, Jim decided to placate Mitchell and see how far his young friend would take the charade.

"Very good, Gary. But that's too obvious. Try again."

Mitchell closed his eyes, this time brining his fingers to his temples without the grandiose waving of his arms. Gone too was the exaggerated moan, while the furrowed lines in his brow came back once more. "You're not sure you can pass it a third time. You're afraid that if you fail it once more, they'll kick you out of command school."

"Still to obvious, Mitchell."

Gary, unfazed by Kirk's remarks, continued. "You're… terrified of a computer beating you. You know in your heart that there's no way a computer can take into account every nuance of human thought and emotion. There is more to commanding a starship than simply following a program. To let one stand as judgment over you is insulting. You want… you want something. You want to prove to them that they're wrong."

Kirk was intrigued. Something Mitchell said had, surprisingly, had stuck a chord. "To prove who is wrong?"

Mitchell smiled without opening his eyes. Something in the way he did it gave Kirk a chill. "Everyone who gains by you failing."

"And how do I do that?"

Gary chuckled, his eyes still closed. Gone with the furrowed lines on his brow. His fingers no longer touched his temples, his arms flat at his sides. Only his head, tilted leisurely back over his shoulders, gave Kirk any indication that Mitchell was still playing the roll of a psychic. "You already know what needs to be done, Jim. If you're looking for a second opinion, then I'd say go for it."

"I'm not sure that's what I needed."

Gary's eyes slid open. "Well, maybe not, but you _will_ need an extra pair of hands to get it done."

The corner of Kirk's mouth twitched up. "Have anyone in mind for the job?"

"In fact, I do. And he just happens to have access to the computer control room."

"* * * * *"

Illuminated by the distant star of the Delta Niam system, a gleaming _Heston_-class battle cruiser led a motley formation of thirty-five vessels towards the Federation held planet of Zal-Vhros. Twenty-two of those ships made up the whole of the 19th Battle Force, with the remainder being either freighters or repair ships.

And it was those freighters that were worth more than their weight in gold. Supplies and raw materials—not to mention a few hundred scientific and military personnel—were being ferried to the planet to shore up its defensive capabilities. Starfleet Command, acting under information gathered by operative from Starfleet Intelligence, had become aware that the Klingon's were making several major pushes into this region of space, seemingly targeting the material rich population metropolis on Argelius only one sector away. It was decided to bolster the presence of both marines and fleet units around the Zal-Vhros system, which would lie directly in the Klingon's path to their assumed target.

Fleet Captain Brady Waldron, in command of the heavy battle cruiser USS _Gable_, was charged with the overall protection of the convoy. Waldron was considered by most to be an outsider, having yet to fight a single engagement in the war. While the remainder of the 19th had seen their share of action—to say nothing about the multiple battle stars received by both the veterans USS _Rutherford_ and the USS _Cambodia—_the _Gable_ had spent the first eighteen months of the war in the shipyard completing a twenty month refit program. As far as the rest of the _Heston_-class was concerned, she was the most sophisticated and most up to date. As far as the rest of the fleet went, she was an ageing design; a throwback to an earlier era of peace and exploration when ships were designed to fight targets half as powerful as the Klingon's they were currently facing. And Fleet Captain Brady Walton, like his ship, was similarly untested.

For the past nine months he'd supervised the refit of his ship and, before that, had been in command of a medium cruiser far removed from the frontlines, patrolling the area of space between Earth and Alpha Centauri—arguably the safest and most boring handful of sectors in known space. So, when it came time for promotions, his number came up like most anyone else in the fleet. His rank of Fleet Captain freshly bestowed, Walton had been ordered to take command of the newly formed 19th Battle Force, and to escort a convoy safely to the Delta Niam system. Considering the 19th would be traveling from a coreward starbase and supply depot orbiting Regulus, enemy resistance was expected to be all but nonexistent. This had sat well with Commodore Serald, commander of the Strategic Group that contained the 19th, and it'd sat well with Walton, who'd been secretly harboring fears of his own that he wouldn't be able to match the combat accolades of some of the contemporaries under his command.

As it was, Walton was glad to have such competent commanders directly under him. In charge of the three squadrons under his command were Captain Richards of the cruiser USS _Gallant_, Captain Green of the starship _Xerxes_, and Captain Tatenen of the command cruiser _King Richard._ All had battle experience in one form or another under their belts, and all had come out of those experiences with nary a scratch on the hulls of their vessels. It'd given Walton a sense of security knowing the past actions of the men under him, and it helped him sleep better at night knowing that he had such forces to fall back on for council if the situation required it.

On the forward view of the Gable, close enough so that screen magnification was unnecessary, the planet Zal-Vhros loomed larger and larger with each passing second. Outwardly, especially at this distance, it bore a striking resemblance to Earth. Their diameters were nearly identical, the as was the length of their day and the percentages of landmasses to water. The three large oceans, two of which were clearly visible at this distance, were a beautiful blue-green, speckled with long whips of white clouds that stretched across them from the shores of one landmass to another. Most of the planet was entirely wilderness, with a full fifty percent of the surface being unexplored. Recently, an archeological dig had discovered the remains of a long dead civilization, and it was hypothesized that the unexplored regions of the planet might contain entire cities preserved by the thick growth of the forests. Some of the scientists in Walton's very convey had been sent with special equipment to discover if those speculations were true.

Something about that gave Walton a sense of comfort. Even with the war against the Klingon's dragging on as long as it had—and with no end in the foreseeable future—Starfleet Command was still actively engaged in the pursuit of wisdom and discovery. That was, Walton knew, where he felt most comfortable. While he knew in his heart he could command this enormous weapon at his disposal adequately, Brady Walton would always be more comfortable in the small, less admired scientific research vessels. _Just give me a frigate with a descent sensor pallet_, he often thought, _and I'll find something you'll be telling your grandkids about. _

He turned away from the beautiful, mysterious world to face his communications officer. "Lieutenant Threld, open a channel to Captain Tatenen on the _King Richard_."

The stout, blue skinned Andorian looked stoically at his captain before acknowledging the request. Moments later the image of Tatenen appeared on the main view screen.

Captain Karis Tatenen, the assumed second in command of the 19th Battle Force, leaned back comfortable in his command chair as the two men gazed at one another. "_King Richard_ here, sir."

Walton looked to the man whom he secretly thought should actually be in command of this mission. True, Fleet Captain Walton outranked Tatenen by his time in the service, but there was a disparity between the two when it came to overall experience. Tatenen, with a fleetwide reputation for being cool under fire—even in the direst of circumstances—had more than his share of Klingon silhouettes painted in the galley of his _Achernar_-class command cruiser. It came as no surprise to most that Tatenen had graduated from Starfleet in the same class as Fleet Captain Garth, and that the two were very close friends to this day, playing long, drawn out games of chess over subspace—even when the time between their respective moves could be weeks or months. His dark hair, cut fashionably short, caught the glint of the overhead light of his bridge as his soft green eyes spoke volumes of the supreme internal confidence he had in himself and in his ship.

"Captain Tatenen," Walton began. "We're approaching point Zed-Alpha-9. Standby to deploy the 95th Battle Squadron to the far side of the planet."

Tatenen nodded calmly. "Yes, sir. Everything is ready. I'd like to deploy the _Gilgamesh_ to the far side of the system as well, sir."

Walton didn't need to ask why, and he silently kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Of course, the outer edge of the system would need starships scanning out into deep space, looking for any aggressors that might come looking for a fight. He attempted to knod back to Tatenen with the same confidence, but he knew he had fallen somewhat short with his more jerky movements. "Yes. Yes, of course, Captain. I'll also be sending out the _Sutherland_ and the _Aldrin _to do the same. That should give us a wide enough field of view outside of the system, while still maintaining an acceptable level of protection around the planet."

"Yes, sir." Tatenen said with another slow nod.

Brady wasn't sure if Tatenen actually approved of his plan or not. Walton thought for a moment that he might actually ask the more experienced captain what he thought of the arrangement, but then remembering Tatenen also had a history of speaking his mind to his superiors, decided to shelve the question for another time. If Karis didn't like the plan, Brady was sure he wouldn't have had to ask.

On the bridge of the _Anton_-class light cruiser USS _Sutherland_, all was as it should be. The rhythmic sounds of the ships engines, gently vibrating the deck plates under each crewman's feet, was a gentle remainder that each and every man, woman, and being onboard was part of a larger body that they all called home. And a beautiful home it was.

The _Sutherland_, commissioned only two months prior to their current assignment, was the newest of her class of research cruisers to join the fleet. Every display screen gleamed, every system was operating at one-hundred percent efficiency, and every crewman's heart seemed to be filled with pride. This mission was her first real test after she'd completed her trials near the shipyards at Morena where she'd been constructed, and Captain Topper Jackson of the planet Beta VII was eager to show the brass at Starfleet Command what his vessel could do.

He's long, lean form swiveled away from the streaming stars displayed on the main view screen to face Lieutenant Commander Solok, his Vulcan science officer. The Vulcan, also tall and lanky, was hunched over the ships library computer as he correlated the most recent sensor data with the astrogation information provided by the last survey vessels to pass through this system.

"Sensor report, Mr. Solok?" Jackson asked kindly.

Solok turned and faced his captain. "The computer has not yet finished processing the data, Captain. I estimate that we will not have a complete report for an additional seventeen point three-five minutes."

"Seventeen point three-five minutes," Jackson repeated slowly.

"Yes, sir."

Jackson smirked, then swiveled his chair to face the chief engineer's station on the opposite side of the bridge. "Engine status, Mr. Parker?"

The older human male turned in his seat to face the much younger captain. "Warp and impulse engines are at peak operating efficiency, sir."

"Weapon status?"

Parker looked at him dubiously. "Not that you'll need them, sir, but they're fully operational."

Jackson's dark skin crinkled as he smiled broadly. "Just because we're out on sensor patrol, it doesn't mean we won't find any trouble. In fact, more often than not, it's the patrols that get into a scuffle before the fleet's do. We must be vigilant."

"Aye, sir," the engineer smiled back. "That being said, if you need me, I think I'll retire to the engine room. Specialist McNab is running some tests on the phase inducers, and I'd like to see how he's coming along."

Captain Parker nodded with approval, and soon the engineer was replaced by his relief, a young Andorian female lieutenant named T'Kora.

The young communications officer onboard the USS _Aldrin_, a fresh face ensign not far removed from Starfleet Academy turned abruptly in his chair to face the captain. The young man tried—but failed utterly—to keep his voice from cracking as he addressed the far superior officer.

"Captain Blosser, an emergency distress call is coming in from the cruiser _Sutherland_. They are asking for immediate assistance."

Jerell Blosser, a career minded officer, and considered by many to be in on the next round of selectees for the rank of Commodore, calmly tuned in his command chair to face the young man. He couldn't help but smile at the tone in the endings voice as he recalled the first time he relayed an official communication to the 'old man'. Jerell only hoped that the display hadn't embarrassed the otherwise exemplary young officer. "Can you establish a channel, Ensign Fillion?"

The ensign shook his head sharply before responding, his words precise and well formed. "Negative, sir. It's a repeating general sub-space distress call."

Blosser nodded. "Put it audio speakers, please."

"Aye," the young man said, then deftly tied the channel into the overhead speakers.

A fluctuating wave of audio interference momentarily poured throughout the bridge, followed by a series of static pops before a voice overtook the noise. "To all Federation registered vessels. This is the Starfleet cruiser _Sutherland_, attached to the 75th Battle Squadron under Fleet Captain Richards, Zal Vhros sector. Our warp drive is down, and impulse reactors are off line. Life support is functioning on reserve power only. In an effort to conserve rapidly depleting power, we can not establish visual communications at this time. We have several injured crewman on board, some in critical condition. We request immediate assistance. This is a Priority One distress call."

Ensign Fillion silenced the audio at that point. "The message then repeats itself, Captain."

"Hmm," Blosser remarked, turning his eyes to the science officer's station next to Fillion's. "Dave?"

Commander David Humphries nodded and turned to the captain. "We're too far away for a detailed scan. At last report, the _Sutherland_ was on the far edge of the system, about half a parsec from our current location."

"How long ago?"

"About six hours ago, sir." Humphries replied.

Blosser nodded calmly. There was no need to alert the bridge crew to something that, at the moment, didn't warrant such a reaction. "Helm, take us to the last known location of the _Sutherland_. Full impulse." He placed a steady hand on the helmsman's' shoulder as he spoke, then turned back to the science officer. "Dave, I want you too keep those sensors scanning on their widest possible pattern. If the _Sutherland_ is lost out there somewhere, I want to find her as quickly as possible."

"Of course, Captain."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"I've located the _Sutherland_, sir. She appears to be without power and adrift."

Captain Blosser walked up the two steps leading from the lower command deck to the upper bridge stations to stand just behind Lieutenant Commander David Turner. "What's her position, Dave?"

The science officer adjusted the long range sensors to get a better fix on the starship. "About one-hundred thousand kilometers off our starboard bow, sir."

"Posture?"

Turner shook his head slowly. "Definitely adrift, sir. She's got a slow tumble on all axis. Power is minimal."

"Life support systems?"

Turner's eyes went momentarily wide, as if the sensor readings had surprised him. "Barley."

Jerell Blosser turned to the main view screen and the streaming stars beyond. "Can you get a visual?"

"Yes, sir."

The image on the forward view screen wavered and was replaced by the listing image of the Federation starship. Blosser and the bridge crew of the _Aldrin_ gazed in momentary silence at the stricken _Anton_-class light cruiser. The bussard caps of the nacelles that protruded down and aft from the rear superstructure were a dark, lifeless amber. Only a handful of windows were lit from within, and every running light—even the emergency ones—were completely out. However, there didn't seem to be a single spot of damage to the exterior of the cruiser—a fact that was quickly reinforced by the short-range sensor report.

Blosser turned to his science officer once more. "Opinion, Mr. Turner?"

Turner's hands played across the science consoles controls as if her were a master pianist. Try as he might, however, he seemed to get more and more frustrated with the readings that were being presented to him. With a defeated shrug he turned to face Captain Blosser. "Total system failure of unknown origin."

Jerell frowned as he leaned forward in the command chair. "Not even a vague speculation?"

Commander Turner inclined his bulbous nose at the main viewer before turning back to face the captain. "Insufficient data at this time, sir."

Blosser nodded and leaned back in the chair, already knowing the answer to the question he was about to raise. "Opinion, Commander?"

"Recommend we form a boarding party immediately, sir. There may be wounded over there that need emergency assistance."

"I concur. In fact, I'll lead the team myself. I want you there with me, thought. Ensign Fillion?"

"Yes… yes, sir?" the young man's voice cracked again.

"Care to join the party?"

The grin on the young mans face stretched from ear to ear. "Yes, sir."

"Very good. Call down to sickbay and have the chief medical officer meet us in the transporter room in five minutes, then call down and request the assistant chief engineer do the same."

"Aye, captain."

Jerell swiveled the chair to face the dark, chocolate skinned helmsman. "Lieutenant Bell, take the con in my absence."

The normally silent man bowed his head slowly. "Aye, sir," he said, his deep voice bouncing off every surface on the bridge.

The landing party wasted little time in beaming over to the stricken Sutherland. As soon as they materialized on deck four, they were greeted by a handful of officers armed with flashlights and tricorders.

"Who goes there?" one of the Sutherland's officers called out.

"Captain Blosser, U.S.S. Aldrin," Jerell said, holding a hand up to block the beams of light that were pointed at his eyes. "We're here to render assistance."

One of the beams moved away from Jerell's face and a young woman—not more than twenty five—approached confidently and outstretched her hand. "Lieutenant Commander Jennifer Shelby, acting first officer."

Blosser shook it quickly. "Where's the Captain, Commander?"

"On the bridge, sir. That is, I think he is. We haven't been able to make it that far. All turbo lifts are down, and none of the doors have power."

Jerell looked to Shelby and her assembled officers—two human security men, a Bolian engineer, and an Edoan female medical officer. Their uniforms, while not torn, were none the less smudged with dirt and grime, probably from having to crawl through seldom used Jefferies tubes to get from deck to deck.

"You're the acting executive officer?" Commander Turner asked.

"Yes, sir," Shelby replied. "Commander Earlene Oswald, the ships XO, was killed when she tumbled down a turbolift shaft about two hours ago." The memory of the incident, still fresh in the young woman's mind, was obviously very troubling to her.

"I see," Blosser replied remorsefully. "Are any of you hurt?"

"No, sir. Not really. We're all fine. Just a few bumps and bruises, but we could all benefit from a shower and a change of uniforms." She smiled meekly, and Blosser took it as a good omen.

"Until we can restore power to the _Sutherland_, I'd like to have you beamed over to the _Aldrin_ for the time being. It'll help conserve oxygen for the crew members still trapped onboard, and you'll be able to clean up and get something to eat."

She seemed hesitant to leave her ship, but she also looked as if she were about to collapse from exhaustion. "Of course, sir. I understand."

Blosser flipped open his communicator and, a moment later, the _Sutherland_ crewmembers were safely beamed aboard his ship. He turned to face Commander Turner, who was standing uneasily next to Ensign Fillion. "Let's split up and see who else we can find. Take engineer Lemieux and Mr. Fillion and move down and aft toward engineering." The captain then turned to face the diminutive chief medical officer, Lillian Amlie, her golden hair—passed down from her Norwegian heritage—was shimmering even in the low light of the corridor. "Doctor, you're with me. We need to get to the bridge."

She smiled faintly and nodded. "Yes, sir."

They'd barely made it twenty feet down the corridor before the captain's communicator chirped. With one hand Blosser reached for the doctor's shoulder to stop her movements, then flipped the communicator opened with the other. "Blosser here. Go ahead, _Aldrin_."

"Bell here, sir. Enemy cruisers coming in at a high rate of speed."

Doctor Amlie turned abruptly to face her captain. "Did he say enemy cruisers?"

Honestly, even Jerell had a hard time believing what he'd just heard. "Repeat, Bell. Did you say enemy cruisers?"

"Yes, sir. A whole lot of them, too. They'll be on us in less than sixty seconds."

_Where did they come from, and how did they get here so quickly?_ No matter. There wasn't enough time to beam back aboard, nor was Bell the best choice for command in a crisis situation. He was too young, to inexperienced, not to mention the fact that he'd barely passed command school. He was, however, an excellent marksman with the phasers—one of the best Blosser had ever seen. Impulsively, the captain spat out the first thing that came to his mind. "Lieutenant Bell, turn the ship over to Lieutenant Commander Shelby. She just beamed aboard from the _Sutherland_. Have her form a defensive position around us."

If Bell was in shock—or even agitated that he'd been removed from command—it didn't show in his voice. It was as calm and steady as ever. "Yes, sir. Right away."

"Good. Get those phasers ready to fire the moment the Klingon's are in range."

"Red alert. Red alert. All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. Commander Shelby to the bridge. Repeat, Commander Shelby to the bridge."

The alert reverberated throughout sickbay, and Jennifer Shelby bolted instantly from the side of the Bolian engineer who was having a sprained wrist tended to by one of the _Aldrin_'s nurses. She reached up a finger to the wall mounted intercom panel, and cursed the fact that a layer of grime was caked beneath the tip of the nail. She hadn't had time to clean up, much less get something to eat after she beamed on board less than ten minutes ago. Now she was being summoned to the bridge of all places. She was tired, dirty, and hungry. She'd watched as her good friend, Earlene Oswald, plummeted to her death just beyond her reach only a few hours before. She wanted to collapse from exhaustion and cry all at the same time, and she'd had it with taking orders for the time being—especially when they came from a crew that wasn't even her own.

"Bridge, this is Shelby. I'm a little busy down here. Can't this wait?"

"Commander, two squadrons of Klingon cruisers are approaching our position on an apparent intercept course."

Her first response, given her current state, was to tell the bridge to go pound sand. Instead she rolled her eyes, then leaned her forehead against the bulkhead in sickbay. "I don't see what that has to do with me. I'm sure you have more than enough staff up there to handle this."

"Lieutenant Commander Shelby, you've been placed in command of the _Aldrin_ by Captain Blosser. He just signaled the change of command personally."

She yanked her head free of the wall and looked at the speaker incredulously. "You've got to be kidding?"

"No, ma'am. Until Captain Blosser returns, you're in command, so I suggest you get your ass up here and command," the voice replied with a hint of trepidation.

Jennifer turned to face the blue skinned Bolian, Ensign Mek, who had accompanied her from the _Sutherland, _to see him smiling and waving her on. "I'll be fine, ma'am… I mean, _Captain_."

She nodded curtly, licked her lips, and then dashed through the sickbay doors in search of the nearest lift to the bridge, her untied blonde hair fluttering like a wild mane behind her, all traces of hunger and fatigue forgotten.

Jennifer nearly leapt through the lift doors when it arrived on the bridge a few seconds later. She sprinted down to the lower deck at the same instant that a dark skinned lieutenant vacated it and moved to the helm console. She had no idea what any of their names were, nor any of their personal strengths and weaknesses. In the end, it didn't really matter. She knew the names of their positions, and what jobs they had to do. All that she required was that they do them well.

It wasn't that long ago, she mused, that she was sitting in the navigator's seat on the bridge of the _Sutherland_. She, like most of the bridge crew, had been going through the motions as the ship patrolled the outer fringes of the system. She'd excused herself to go to the galley to get a bite to eat for lunch. Earlene was there, having just come off her watch on the bridge. The two women sat and chatted for nearly a half an hour, Earlene talking about her husband and son back on Mars, and Jennifer musing about the fiancé that was currently brokering a deal in The Triangle before he returned to Federation space for their wedding on Earth in three month.

Then the power had gone out. In the confusion to get to the bridge to make heads or tales of what had happened, Earlene had fallen down the turbo shaft tube. It was purely an accident and, had Jennifer been the first to the doorway, it would have been her body at the bottom of chasm. Jennifer could still hear Earlene's scream. In that one instant she had been made first officer and, a few hours later, found herself captain of a cruiser, one not unlike the _Sutherland_ herself, with a horde of Klingon warships approaching on an attack vector.

'In war', she recalled someone saying, 'things could change that quickly.'

"Who's in charge up here?" she called out to everyone at once.

"I am," the dark skinned man called from the helm. "Lieutenant Bell."

"Congratulations, Mr. Bell. I've just added 'Executive Officer' to your Starfleet record. I need a ships weapons report now."

"Aye, Captain. All lasers are charged and ready; accelerator cannons are primed and loaded. Phased energy beams are at your command."

"You have directed phased weapons on board?" she asked with a mixture of shock and elation.

"Yes, ma'am. We were retrofitted last month at starbase. It's still experimental, but we've had good results so far."

"Well, they're about to go from experimental to front line service ready," she smirked. "Navigational status?"

"Warp engines are at optimal power output. Impulse fusion reactors one through six are operating at optimum efficiency. Reaction thrusters are at your command."

"Sensors?" She swiveled in her chair to face the science console, only to be confronted with an officer from the engineering department. A cough from behind her instantly reminded her that all bridge layouts were not the same. On the _Aldrin_, the science station was on the port side of the bridge. She covered her embarrassment with an abrupt turn of her chair. She was now facing the familiar blue shirt of a young Andorian female.

"Lieutenant Ta'Leea Lateal, ma'am. All sensors are operating within specifications."

"Distance of the Klingons?"

"One-hundred thousand kilometers and closing rapidly."

"Number and type of enemy targets."

"Multiple heavy cruisers and destroyers, and several gunboats of various armaments."

She turned to what she hoped was the communications station. "Communications officer, send a coded distress call Fleet Captain Waldron, USS _Gable_. Tell them the Klingons are invading the Zal Vhros sector at this location and that we require immediate assistance."

The young man at the station nodded sharply and turned back to the communications console.

"Put the Klingon's on the forward viewer."

The image of the drifting _Sutherland_ was replaced by a swarm of Klingon heading in their direction.

"I want all lasers directed at the lead D-7's secondary hull, followed by a burst from the phased lasers."

Bell turned cocked a head over his shoulder. "They're not lasers, per say. It's more of a linear directed beam of highly focused—"

"Lieutenant, can you tell the difference between 'lasers' and 'phasers' when I'm giving you a direct battle order?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good, then that's what I'll call them for now. Aim the phasers at the Klingon's warp nacelles."

"Yes, ma'am. Accelerator cannons?"

"Target the command module, but hold fire until I give the order."

Lieutenant Latel spoke up from the science console. "Fifteen-thousand kilometers and closing rapidly."

"Are their weapons charged?"

The Andorian's antenna twitched on the top of her head. "Yes, ma'am. Forward disruptors are fully primed."

Jennifer was gripping the armrest tightly, her long, blonde hair cascading wildly over her shoulders. She didn't have time to pin it up, and prayed silently it wouldn't get in the way. _One of these days I'm going to cut it all off_, she admonished herself. _I feel like Repunzel in a Starfleet uniform_. "Lieutenant Bell, make every shot count."

"I intend to."

Moments later the Klingon's were on top of them—or more aptly, all around them. At the last minute, the lead D-7 had pulled up sharply and sailed over the top of the _Aldrin_ at full impulse power. The two combatants exchanged a brief stream of fire—laser from the _Aldrin_ striking the Klingon's secondary hull, the disruptors of the Klingon striking the defenseless _Sutherland_ in her primary hull—then it was over. The remainder of the Klingon vessels didn't fire a single shot as the entire group sped past the two Starfleet cruisers.

On the bridge of the Aldrin, Shelby felt a wave of mixed emotions cross over: shock over the Klingon's all but ignoring them, then frustration that she wasn't able to see what the new phasers were capable of doing to a front line enemy cruiser. Suddenly realizing that the situation could have turned out far worse than it had, she thanked the stars that she and the rest of the crew were still alive.

"Damage report?" she asked, more out of obligation than necessity.

"None, captain." Lieutenant Lateal said from the science station.

"What about the _Sutherland_?"

"Minor hull damage to the primary hull near impulse control, but nothing major—not even a near breach."

Her shoulders slumped as the exhilaration of near combat began to wear off. "Thank heaven for small miracles." She fell back into the command chair, all but slumping into a very un-lady like posture. She brought the palm of her hand to her face as she rubbed a bead of sweat from her brow. "Okay, I give up. Can anyone here tell me what the hell just happened?"

The bridge was silent, save for the occasional beeping and bleeping of the computer terminals. Jennifer realized that the rest of the crew was similarly at a loss for words, so she went back to the task at hand. She looked over to the young Andorian woman at the science console, who was looking back at her and smiling faintly. "What is the projected course for the Klignons, Ta'Leea?"

"Their heading in system, captain."

"Straight towards our fleet?"

Ta'Leea shrugged. "Or the planet. I can't be sure. Either way, I don't think our forces are going to have it as easy as we did."

Jennifer cast her eyes to the deck for a moment and nodded. "They're looking for a fight, just not with a puny little research cruiser like us."

"It would seem so," the science officer confirmed.

Jennifer pondered her options, trying to weigh the safety of the Federation against the lives of everyone now under her command. "Well, let's not waste any time then. The bastards want a fight, then let's give them one."

"What about the captain?"

Jennifer shook her head. "There's no time. We need to get in there now and reinforce the ships already at the planet. We don't have any other alternative at this point."

The bridge was silent for a moment, then she spoke up again. "Helm, plot a course to bring us in directly behind the Klingons. Maybe we can catch them in a pincer."

"Aye," the young man said as he began inputting the commands.


End file.
